Amor vincit omnia
by Maxisback
Summary: Maria and Georg are married and living in the United States after escaping from Austria. But things aren't going as smooth as they would have wished ...
1. Chapter 1

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: „The Sound of Music" certainly doesn't belong to me. I'm only playing around with it a bit.

AN: The title of the story is Latin and means: "Love wins over all". And I'd like to get a beta-reader for this story because English isn't my native language.

_**Chapter 1: The last step**_

The soft sound of rolling rails came through her dream, waking her up. Maria turned around on her belly, trying to keep to her sleep by pulling the pillow over her head and pinning her eyes together. Her dream just had been so nice: She'd been in the captain's arms, looking up in his deep blue eyes and he'd smiled at her tenderly. But now she heard a soft chuckle nearby and wrinkling her forehead she turned again and opened her eyes, finding herself in the luxurious sleeping compartment of a train. Just opposite to the bed on a blue upholstered bank, immaculate dressed, shaved and combed as always, sat the man she'd just dreamed of, holding a news paper and drinking from a cup of coffee. He sat the cup down, folded his news paper neatly and rose up.

"Oh, captain!" Maria sighed.

"Captain?" He was coming to the bed, one eyebrow raised. "And here I thought I wouldn't look like a sea captain at all!"

"Who told you that?" Maria asked, stretching and smiling at him.

"My children's former governess – and she's a woman of indefinite wisdom, you know?" He sat down on her bedside, took her hand, turned it around and placed a tender kiss on the inside of her wrist.

Maria used her free hand to comb through his dark hair. "Your children's former governess was right – you indeed don't look like a sea captain. But you very much look like Captain von Trapp this morning."

"Actually I'd rather look like your husband, Frau von Trapp," Georg responded, bending over her and kissing her forehead. Rising up again he put the strain of hair back Maria's touch had made falling in his face. "I take it you slept well? Shall I order your breakfast now?"

"Oh my! Georg!" Maria sat up, her hands at her cheeks. She felt how she was blushing and for a tiny moment she wished herself back in the small bed in the cubicle at Nonnberg Abbey. Why could she never do something right? Just yesterday she'd kneeled in front of a priest with Georg, swearing to God and herself that she would do everything to become the wife Georg needed, everything to make him happy – and then, only a few hours later … "Oh, Georg, I'm so sorry!" she almost cried.

"What about, darling?" He took her hand again, entwining his fingers with hers, a gesture already wonderfully familiar to her.

"Falling asleep while you were in the bathroom!" Maria smiled awkwardly at him. "Why didn't you wake me?"

Georg came a bit closer, laying his arm around her shoulders. "What do you want? The honest or the charming answer – though the last one is true too."

"Under these circumstances I want both," Maria replied, laying her head against him. From the first time he'd taken her in his arms, she'd felt a security in it she'd never known before. He was her haven, her shelter, her home and her confidence, but at this morning all of this wasn't enough. She wanted something more. There was a longing for his closeness only cuddling to him couldn't satisfy. She wanted more, she wanted to touch not only the fine fabric of his grey jacket, but his skin beneath. As much as she'd always adored his elegance, now she would have liked to have him a bit less up-buttoned.

"The charming and the honest answer: I didn't wake you because you looked so lovely and sweet in your sleep," he said now. "And for the honest, but not too flattering answer: I was rather tired myself. You know, I hadn't got much sleep the night before."

"Ah – celebrating your last night as a free man with dear Max?" Maria chuckled.

"Well, we would have liked to, but you know we had to deal with a bunch of very excited children – and there wasn't any governess to help us. And even worse: Knowing how my future wife thinks about whistles and commands I couldn't even use my captainly authority on them."

"My poor darling!" Maria kissed his cheek. "How you must have suffered!"

"It became even worse in the morning!" he complained, but his eyes smiled within. "At five o' clock Gretl ran through the hall first time to ask Liesl if it would be time to get ready now. From then on she asked every ten minutes and between the sound of her little feet trampling along I got my sons' arguing about the best way to keep Kurt's socks up for once, Brigitta's crying because she couldn't find the hair tie she wanted to wear, Louisa's nagging about her dress looking much too girly and Liesl's rather loud attempts to calm her siblings down."

Maria looked a bit confused at him. The children's bedrooms were in the left wing of the villa while Georg's room was at the other side. "How did they come so close to you? I told them not to leave their hall before breakfast."

Now it was him who was slightly blushing. "Well, they remained in their hall. Only I was there too." He sighed and explained: "With the master bedroom undergoing its redecoration I'd told Franz to lay my uniform out in my bed chamber."

"And where were you sleeping, Georg?"

"In your room," he confessed. "With all the wedding preparations Frau Schmidt hadn't managed to clean it up yet, so your pillows smelled still nicely after you …" He pulled her a bit closer, sinking his mouth into her hair. "I missed you very much, my heart." Suddenly he chuckled. "You should have seen Sister Maria Desideria's face as I came out of your room in the morning! Our resident dragon obviously thinks it highly inappropriate for the bridegroom to sleep in the bride's bed in the night before the wedding – even when she's not in."

"She was in the villa as my chaperone – and having her there was your wish!" Maria reminded her new husband.

"I didn't want someone to talk badly about you," Georg answered, wrinkling his forehead.

Maria reached up for smoothing the angry wrinkles out. She knew how much the rumours about their engagement – people whispering that the wealthy Ritter von Trapp would only marry the poor governess because he'd impregnated her – had upset Georg. Therefore he'd wanted Maria to go back to the Abbey during the time of their engagement. Luckily the Reverend Mother had been on Maria's side in not liking this idea much. Practical thinker as she was, she'd suggested to send Sister Maria Desideria, the retired mistress of novices, to the von Trapp villa for the eight weeks until the wedding. Of course, it hadn't stopped the rumours entirely. One day Louisa had come back from school, crying because one of her classmates had told her what she'd heard in her mother's salon: That the governess had played her cards well by seducing her employer and becoming pregnant and that inviting Sister Maria Desideria now would be like "closing the stable's door after the cows are out."

Comforting Louisa hadn't been too hard a task – it hadn't been her first experience with people talking about her family. However, calming Georg had been rather difficult. He'd raged for days and even now he was scowling again.

Maria stroked his cheek, turning his face to her again and smiling. "What do you think the children are doing now?" she asked.

He promptly laughed. "Knowing them I'd say they make Max going up at least once before eleven o'clock."

"Georg, you're a fine friend!" Maria scolded him gently. "I find it very nice from Max to take over looking after our children for four weeks. I only hope they won't make it too hard for him."

"Considered we're talking about my dear old friend Max, I suppose the hardship will be on us afterwards," Georg replied. "He'll spoil them rotten and they will forget all about discipline."

"I'm sure you'll be able to maintain discipline anew when we're back, my captain." Maria shifted in his arm. Actually she needed to get up and go into the bathroom, only she felt awkward about showing herself in the nightshirt she was wearing. It had been a gift from the Reverend Mother, but certainly not what one would a nun expect to give a former postulant. Maria still wondered how the Reverend Mother had got this piece of silk and lace, rather tight fighting and with a deeper décolletage as Maria had ever worn before.

The Reverend Mother had sent for Maria in the night before her wedding after she'd done her prayers. Inviting Maria in to her study, she'd made her sit down and given her the nicely wrapped package with the nightshirt. Smiling at Maria, she'd put her hand on her shoulders in a motherly gesture. "My child, it would be your mother's task to have this talk with you, but with you not having a mother anymore …" She'd sighed. "Maria, I told you once that the love between a man and a woman is holy – and with that I meant every aspect of this love. Tomorrow you'll be joined in matrimony with Captain von Trapp. You know, it won't be only a union of your hearts and souls, but in the flesh too. You're supposed to become one. The church says your becoming one is to be done for procreating, but I think there's more about. God gave you the gift of being able to give and to feel pleasure. It's an expression of love, Maria and there's nothing to be ashamed or awkward about. "

Maria couldn't help it. She nevertheless felt rather timid about climbing out of the bed in nothing as a flimsy nightshirt and going to the little bathroom. If only she wouldn't have fallen asleep the night before! Then she would have become Georg's wife in every sense of the word already and then she probably wouldn't feel so nervous around him anymore.

Well, she needed to go now. Her bladder was full and she wanted to brush her teeth. So, after kissing her husband's cheek once more, Maria pushed the blanket away. "I need to go up," she told Georg.

"Shall I order your breakfast then?" Georg pulled his watch out and opened it. "We'll arrive in Paris in two hours."

"Then I need to dress!" Maria was at the door of the bathroom.

"Pity!" Georg commented dryly. "You look very lovely in that."

Maria felt his eyes on her like a touch and it made for a fluttering in her stomach. And why was it suddenly so warm in the compartment?

"Maria? Come here!" Georg was still sitting on the bed, reaching out for her. Maria stepped over and took his hand. He used it for pulling her close, laying his arms around her and putting his head on her breasts.

Leaning down, Maria combed with spread fingers through his hair, once again amazed how silken it felt. His closeness made for a prickling in her breasts and it remembered her on a night two weeks before. Georg had insisted on taking her to the town for dinner and afterwards he'd led her to a bar where they'd danced. On their way back to Aigen Maria had sat next to him, admiring his profile and his beautiful hands holding the wheel of his car.

"I love you, Georg," she'd heard herself saying, stroking his arm.

He'd granted her one of his tender half-smiles and then he'd driven the car into a little alley, switching off the engine and reaching out to her, pulling her into his arms. "I love you too, Maria – very much so!" He'd kissed her, soft and tender as he'd always done in the last weeks. But suddenly his gentleness hadn't been enough for Maria anymore. Dancing with him, feeling the warmth of his muscles under her hands, had made for an awareness of her body and a need she'd never sensed before. Only being in public had held her away from pressing closer to him and of kissing him deeply. However, now they weren't in public any longer. The little alley lay in the dark and she was for once alone with the man she longed for. So she'd shifted closer to him, melting herself against his firm chest, deepening the kiss while her fingers discovered the soft skin at the back of his neck. And then he'd turned so that she'd lain back in her seat with him covering her upper body, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, his hands stroking her sides. Maria had felt like losing herself entirely in his embrace and she'd wished more without knowing exactly what "more" meant. This lips, hot and dry, going down to her breasts, a hand had covered one, applying gentle pressure and his mouth had been back on hers, kissing and suckling her tongue.

Maria hadn't been able to think anymore. She'd only felt the urge to come even closer to him, to have him never stop the sweet torment of his kiss and to never lose the sweet weight of his hand on her breast. And more, even more – there was an emptiness within her, something which cried to be completed by him.

Almost abruptly he'd broken the kiss, leaning back in his seat and breathing deeply. Taking Maria's hand then and kissing it he'd said: "Forgive me, Maria. I shouldn't have assaulted you like that."

"I'm to become your wife soon, Georg," she'd simply answered.

"Soon!" he'd given back and with a little smile he'd started the engine again.

Now his head was once again lying at her breasts – and she was his wife now, wasn't she? So why not sitting down in his lap and kissing him until … no, it wouldn't do. Not with the train arriving in Paris in only two hours. Maria didn't know how long it would need to make finally love with her new husband, but she was pretty sure that neither he nor she would like to jump into their clothes afterwards and out of the train.

Bending down and kissing his head she sighed. "Georg, I really need to go into the bathroom."

"Yes." He let her go and rose up. "I'm going to order your breakfast."

* * *

They'd strolled through the city almost all afternoon, enjoying a light dinner in a little restaurant at the end of the day and then, hand in hand, they'd walked back to their hotel. Although Maria had reminded herself all the time on what the Reverend Mother had told her, she couldn't help feeling rather nervously. Of course, she'd grown up on a farm, so she know how procreating worked. And even more: She knew how to use a library and she'd gotten herself a book about humane anatomy and the function of it. She'd learned all what was to learn – even that losing her virginity sometimes was painful for a woman. Yet as far as this was concerned, she didn't worry too much. She trusted Georg – he'd once before managed with a young wife and the first Frau von Trapp obviously hadn't become shocked too much. She'd born Georg seven children – what better proof for a healthy love life could there be? No, Georg certainly would know what to do and how to avoid making it too hurtful an experience for Maria. 

However, what about him and his needs? What did he expect, what would make him happy? Maria loved him and wanted nothing more as his entire, complete serendipity. Only she didn't have the slightest idea what she would have to do for fulfilling all his needs and wishes.

Now they arrived in their luxurious suite in the hotel and Georg went over to the French window looking out over the city. "How do you like Paris, darling?" he asked.

Maria slipped out of her jacket, hung it over a chair, stepped over to him, laid her arms around his middle and put her head on his shoulder. "It's a beautiful city – and all the elegant women in the boulevards! It's really amazing …"

"Were there women?" Georg took her face between his hands and lifted it up to him. "I'm afraid the elegance of the Parisian women is entirely lost on me. The only woman I'm interested in is a beautiful lady from Salzburg who luckily happens to be my wife." His mouth glided over her temple down on her cheeks to her lips.

Maria closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth, enjoying his kiss. As always in his arms she felt content and even the thought on what was to come didn't rouble her anymore. It would be fine, wouldn't it? She was with Georg and they loved each other. Everything would work out nicely.

Now he was moving to the sofa, pulling her down in his lap. "What are we going to do now, Frau von Trapp?" he asked her, nibbling at her ear.

Once again Maria ruffled through his hair. "What do you think about going to bed, captain?" she gave back.

"Are you tired, Maria?"

"No, but …" Maria hide her face on his neck. "Georg, would you do me a favour?"

"Whatever makes you happy, my heart." He smiled at her, his blue eyes filled with gentleness.

"Would you go into the bathroom first?" Maria bit on her bottom lip, feeling nervous again. And why were they always talking about bathrooms?

For a moment he looked a bit confused, but then he understood and smiled. "Of course." He used the back of his hand for stroking her cheek. "Only I'll need some time – I have to shave again." He lifted her, putting her on her feet. "Just don't run away while I'm in the bathroom, darling."

Maria hugged him once more. "I absolutely don't intend to run away, Georg. Just on the contrary. I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the rest of your life."

"That's just what I hope for!" He kissed her cheek and disappeared into the bedroom.

Maria heard him opening the closet and rummaging around, and then he let his shoes drop and went into the bathroom, all the time quietly whistling.

Maria smiled by listening. The sounds of him in the bathroom, only a few steps away from her suddenly made her feel truly and really married. From now on she would share his life and despite of him being a very private man, he would give her opportunities to come close to him and to life with him through parts of his life no one, not even his children, got to see. And perhaps, one day, she wouldn't only be mother to the seven children they already had, but getting one of her own, a living, breathing proof of the unique connection she shared with Georg.

Thinking of it made her remember a little conversation a few weeks before and she smiled. She'd asked him if he'd like to have more children and he'd beamed at her, looking very young and happy in this moment: "But of course I want to have more children! Five in the least – I've always wanted to make the dozen full."

It had been one of the moments when Maria had come rather close to asking him for whatever reasons he'd proposed to Baroness Schraeder. Maria couldn't for her life imagine the Baroness with a baby. It was all too obvious that she didn't feel comfortable around children and that she certainly wouldn't want to wish to have more as the seven she already had to deal with.

The thought of the baroness still bothered Maria sometimes. She wasn't jealous on Elsa Schraeder, knowing that Georg was fond of her, but only as a friend. But there was nevertheless something about his relationship with the baroness what made Maria worrying. She'd got enough opportunities to watch him with the elegant socialite and she'd seen that he'd enjoyed her sophisticated charm, her wit, her self-confidence, her beauty and the aplomb with which she held court. The baroness suited his house and life-style, she was all what people expected the wealthy Frau von Trapp, wife of the famous naval hero and noble man to be while Maria – what was she? As she'd come into the villa she'd felt rather intimated by its glory and like a country bumpkin being in the city for the first time. What did she know about the life of the rich and posh people, the life Georg was used to? What did she know about couturiers, fashions, salons and the cuisine he liked? For her a schnitzel with noodles had always been the best she could think of – and with Georg she had learned that the combination of schnitzel with noodles was "barbarian" and that fine food meant things like lobsters and other things Maria didn't even know the names of, not to mention she didn't have a glue how to eat them properly. And back to the question of fashion – her first experience with it Maria had only found embarrassing.

She remembered only too well how Georg had told her to get herself a few new dresses and: "Especially you'll need some evening gowns. I'd like to show of my beautiful bride soon."

Maria had known that something made by herself wouldn't do. The simple dresses she'd tailored for herself had been right for the governess, but they wouldn't suit the future Frau von Trapp. Yet the thought of the posh shops in Salzburg had intimated her. Until now she'd only ever passed them, even not daring to look in their windows for too long, knowing that she would never been able to afford one of the pieces displayed there.

And there had been another problem: Money. Of course, a few days before Frau Schmidt had given her an envelope with some money in it – in fact much more as Maria ever had had before. But would it be enough for the kind of dresses Georg wanted to see her in?

Maria had doubted it, but nevertheless gone into a shop in Salzburg. However, it had been a disaster! She'd hardly entered as the lady there had approached her, looking at her with hardly hidden disgust and saying: "Oh, I don't think you'll find something suitable here."

Maria had bravely insisted on looking around and indeed seen an evening gown she would have liked to wear. Yet there hadn't been a price tag on it and so she'd asked – obviously not the proper thing to do in such a shop because the lady had looked at her as if Maria would have insulted her personally and answered coldly. The sum had made Maria almost faint – it was more than double as much as she was having.

Rather forlornly strolling through the streets afterwards, Maria hadn't known what to do. Buying some fabric, trying to make new dresses? Perhaps if she could get some new pattern for sewing – but when to find the time to do it? During the days she was busy with the children – and by now Georg was almost always with them. And during the evenings – she liked to spend time with Georg, walking with him around the lake or simply sitting with him on the terrace, talking. She didn't have time to tailor herself new dresses.

Her saviour had been Max Detweiler, Georg's best friend. As she'd just stood in front of another shop, looking thoughtfully at the display, he'd come around a corner, smiling at her. "How's your shopping going?"

"Oh, Mr Detweiler," Maria had sighed.

"Problems, my dear?" He'd taken her hand, pulled it through the crook of his arm and patting it, he'd said: "Just tell Uncle Max! He'll help you out."

"I was in a shop," Maria had studied the tips of her shoes. "The dresses were beautiful, but so expansive! I don't have enough money …"

A moment he'd looked at her with one eyebrow raised in puzzlement, then he'd started to walk, pulling her with him. "As I've said: Uncle Max will help you out. We'll go to see Madame Eloise. She's an old friend of mine and one of the best couturiers in Salzburg."

He'd taken her to another shop, even more posh as the first one. There he'd invited her to the shop keeper, an elderly, very sophisticated lady to whom he'd cheerfully announced: "I'm giving you the chance of a lifetime: You're the first to dress the beautiful future Frau von Trapp. She needs everything – an evening robe, some dresses, shoes and whatever belongs to it …"

Three hours later Maria, overwhelmed by trying on a dozen of dresses and "whatever belongs to it" had walked out of the shop in a gorgeous blue suit with matching silken shirt, relieved in knowing that a glorious evening gown and some other dresses would be delivered to the villa in the afternoon. The only thing making her uncomfortable was still the question of money – Max had made the payment in simply telling the shop keeper: "The bill goes to Captain von Trapp, you know the address." Yet spending so much money on clothes – Maria felt almost ashamed about. She was sure, she'd never come in use with that.

And what about her abilities to run the house? Maria had worried about, but Georg had never seemed to mind. Whenever she'd talked about her insecurity, he'd simply kissed her and said: "You'll adapt quicker as you think!"

"Maria?" He was done in the bathroom and coming back in the living area.

His sight made Maria almost laugh, but what had she expected? Of course Captain Georg von Trapp looked the perfect gentleman even when he was about to go in bed. From the slightly wet, but nevertheless perfect combed hair over the clean shaved face down to the burgundy silken dressing gown over pyjamas in dark red to the leather slippers he looked like a picture out of a posh magazine – and so breathtakingly handsome Maria felt once more overwhelmed by love and pride.

Smiling at him she whispered: "I love you, Georg."

He opened his arms, pulled her close and held her head against his shoulder. With his mouth in her hair he gave back: "Lucky me!" For a moment they stood in silence, then he took her face between his hands and lifted it up to look in her eyes. "Maria," he started softly, kissing her forehead, "there's something I need to tell you."

"Yes, my love?"

He cleared his throat and granted her one of his enchanting half-smiles. "I'd very much like to make love to you this night," he said. "However, I want you to feel ready for it – and if you aren't yet, we'll wait. There's no need to rush something."

"But I want to be close to you," Maria answered, raising her hand and laying it against his cheek. "I'm ready and," she snuggled against him, "I trust you, Georg."

He kissed her forehead again and then stepped back, talking her hand. "I thank you, Maria. Only," he was inhaling deeply and started anew. "Maria, it's said that the first time isn't too pleasant for a woman. And I really hate the idea to cause you any pain."

The worry in his eyes touched her deeply and she went closer to him, embracing him. "I'm not afraid, my love", she whispered. "I mean, millions of women made it through. I'll manage, too."

Georg sighed. "Dearest, I definitely hope it will be more as only making it through. You know, making love should be all about pleasure and tenderness and passion and enjoying each other. I will try to make you feel some pleasure, my darling."

"I'm sure you will." Maria let her hands glide over his back, marvelling in the strength of his body underneath the fabric of the dressing gown. Raising her head, her lips searched his mouth for another long and deep kiss.

* * *

Lying in her husband's arm, her palm just over where his heart was beating, her head on his naked shoulder, Maria sighed contently and closed her eyes, but only to remember his. The smile in them as she'd come out of the bathroom at last – he'd lain in bed then, his hands folded behind his head and the blanket up to his chest. There had been something like awkwardness in his look and as always, when Georg showed his vulnerability, Maria had felt deeply touched and filled with tenderness for him. 

The little insecurity he'd showed had given her the courage to step to the bed, to slip out of her night shirt and to stand there, at last naked in front of her husband. For a moment she'd needed to fight against the urge to cover herself at least with her hands – she'd never before shown someone her naked body. Yet hadn't Georg often enough told her he thought her beautiful? Slowly she'd looked at him and in the moment their eyes had met Maria had forgotten all about her anxiety. His deep blue eyes had radiated so much love and adoration and his voice, slightly hoarse and sounding as he'd just discovered a miracle, had soothed her. "You're so lovely, Maria! Come to me – please!"

Slipping in bed at his side, stretching out in his arm, kissing him – Maria had been nervous and even a bit afraid while she'd been in the bathroom, but now everything was as it should be. Never in her life had something felt so right as to kiss Georg, to let her hands roam over his back and to hold him close to her. There was only one thing which wasn't perfect and so Maria, kissing his jaw, whispered: "Georg, could you perhaps …" She didn't know how to express her wish in words, so she gently tugged at his collar. "I'd like to feel your skin."

On quick move and he was out of the silken shirt, throwing it in front of the bed. Turning back to Maria, he crooked his head. "Not as much skin as hair all over," he said, once again sounding almost awkward.

Maria laid her hand on his shoulder. The form of it was already familiar, but the smoothness and warmth of his skin was as new as the sight of his muscular chest, covered with a coat of fine, dark hair. A line of it led down to his flat belly and for a moment Maria fought against the temptation to push the blanket away which covered his hips and legs. Although she'd never seen a naked man before, she was sure that this new husband of her was an especially handsome one and bending down, she placed a kiss on his shoulder, nibbling tenderly at it.

"Huh!" He twisted, turned and grinned at her. "Who's doing the seduction tonight?"

"Both of us?" Maria gave back.

"No." He shook his head and gently laid her back in the pillows. "Tonight it's all about you, my wife."

And then he kissed her again and his hands and lips were on her skin, touching and stroking, making her body becoming alive in a way she wouldn't have thought possible. And there was something deep within her, a need for completion, an urge which almost burned her up and made her moan and struggle for even more closeness and even him touching her where no one had ever touched her before, even her body exploding in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure wasn't enough to satisfy what he'd awakened. She wanted to melt in his arms, to have him becoming a part of her, to connect to him as much as possible. And yes, there had been a little pain as he'd finally entered her body, but it had only made for the experience of being joined to him becoming even more intense and real and wonderful.

Once more it had been Georg's eyes which had held her captured. Their blue had become so dark they looked like the night sky and they'd seemed to be connected to hers, looking deep into her heart.

"Maria, oh heavens, Maria!" Suddenly every muscle in his body had tensed and she'd felt how his skin had become covered in sweat. His face had almost like as he'd be in pain and then he'd sunken down on her, limb and breathing hard. Maria had firmly held him to her, wishing this moment wouldn't end. Never before he'd shown her his vulnerability so openly. She'd known from the first moment she'd fallen in love with him that he, despite of his strength and outstanding courage, was a sensitive man who desperately needed to be loved, but she wouldn't have believed that he would ever allow her to hold him like that. All feelings of inferiority she'd suffered through were suddenly gone, displaced by the knowledge that she was his equal, that the strength of her love matched his braveness and self-discipline. She'd needed him to grow into her womanhood and to accept herself fully as a woman, but he'd also needed her to become whole again.

Sighing once more, she stretched and shove his leg over his, snuggling closer into his embrace.

"How do you feel, Maria?" His deep, quiet voice was filled with gentleness.

"I've never been better." Maria raised her head and placed a kiss on his cheek. "I wonder," she started thoughtfully.

"Hmm?" Georg's hand was in her hair, idly playing with it.

"I wonder," Maria repeated, "if the Reverend Mother knows …"

"What, my darling?"

"How lovely it feels to make love," Maria answered. "She told me I mustn't feel awkward or ashamed of my pleasure on you …"

"Well," Georg grinned, "that means she knows at least theoretically."

"Nuns are supposed to be virgins," Maria replied, still deep in thought. "It's probably better this way."

"Why do you think so?" Georg's let one finger wander down her spine.

"Because I'd find it hard to live without it now," Maria answered.

"How nice to hear." Georg pulled her close, falling back in the pillows again and taking her with him to lie on his chest. Kissing her tenderly, he sighed. "I need to go up – I want something to drink. What about you, my heart?"

"Actually, I'm a bit hungry. Do you think I could have an apple? There's a basket with fruits in the living room, isn't it?" Georg got up and Maria watched how he slipped into his dressing gown again, almost regretting it. She liked to have him naked – it was so intimate and made for a wonderful awareness of really and truly being married to him. "Georg?"

"Hmm?" He was already back from the living room, a bottle with champagne, two glasses and an apple in his hands.

"How often do married people do it?" she asked.

Georg sat down on the bedside, putting the glasses on the nightstand and rolling the apple over to her. Opening the bottle he grinned at her, suddenly looking like one of his sons. "What do you mean? Eating apples or drinking champagne in bed?" he asked with faked innocence.

Biting into her apple, Maria answered. "You know exactly what I meant!"

"Making love?" The bottle was open and he poured the sparkling champagne into the glasses. "It depends, I think. Take my dear friend Zeller for example: With him always working at the fame of his beloved Führer and with his wife looking like a drill sergeant I don't think they do it more often as once a year and then only for giving the Reich a new soldier."

"Georg!" Maria leant over and playfully slapped his back. "I certainly didn't want to know how the Zellers …"

"I don't either. Even the thought of him procreating makes me shudder," Georg answered, offering her a glass with champagne. "But if you'd like to know how often I intend to make love to you – what about whenever we'll get the chance?" He put his glass on the nightstand, slipped out of his dressing gown and slipped back in the bed, offering her his arm. "Only I'm afraid at home we won't get as much opportunities as I'd like to."

"Why ever not?" Maria swallowed the last piece of her apple and washed it down with the champagne. "What could keep us away from each other?"

"Oh, we've got seven reasons, named Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and Gretl," he answered. "Just think about how often they disturb you during the nights …"

"Oh, actually it's become much better in the last weeks," Maria replied. "In the first time I was in the house it was often that one of the children came to me during the night – I think, they were probably sometimes a bit overexcited and therefore they couldn't sleep. Besides they were worrying about you, Georg. But since you're back it's become better, really – in the last three or four weeks they actually almost always slept through."

"Not exactly, darling," Georg laughed. "You slept through. The children didn't. Just let me count: Two weeks ago on Monday Liesl couldn't sleep because of a headache – I think its name actually was Rolf and she's better off without him. However, around two o'clock she came to me asking for an aspirin. Afterwards we were having a little father-daughter talk about the stupidity of young men."

"Oh, I'm glad she talked to you!" Maria cried. "I think she really needed it."

"Hmm – at two in the morning." Georg sighed and sipped at his champagne. "You will admit: Her timing could have been better, especially when you consider I'd promised Louisa a morning ride – and with Louisa 'morning' means she comes around six o'clock, wondering why I'm not dressed and up already. I made her groom both our horses – it was my only chance to get at least a cup of coffee and a piece of bread before she became too impatient with me."

"And then she shooed you around in the woods for two hours!" Maria giggled.

"Well, I got my revenge – I made her do dressage afterwards!" he grinned. "I'm sure at the end of her lesson her butt ached more than mine!"

"Nice father you are!" Maria laughed at him.

"Well, I was nice enough to help poor Kurt out two nights later as he came to me around midnight because he was so terribly hungry he couldn't sleep," Georg defended himself.

"He's growing very fast in the moment, therefore he needs lots of food," Maria said. "And if memory doesn't fail me, we were having spinach for dinner. He really doesn't like it much."

"At least he likes salami sandwiches," Georg said dryly. "Only I was the one who had to sleep on the crumbles later."

"You let him have a salami sandwich in your bed?"

"Well," now Georg was looking almost sheepishly, "I don't like spinach either. So he caught me with a salami sandwich – what should I've done? I had to get one for him too, hadn't I?"

"I hope you made him at least brush his teeth afterwards again." Maria leant back in his arm.

"I'm afraid I forgot – I was rather tired."

"So much about discipline in the von Trapp household!" Maria laughed.

"It's all your fault, Maria! You wanted me to become close to my children."

"How could I know you'd change from a monster with a whistle into a softie who spoils them rotten?" Maria smiled. "Besides I got my punishment. Last week on Thursday – imagine the shock I got as I came into the nursery in the morning and the little ones weren't in their beds! Liesl and I'd already searched half of the hourse as Brigitta got the idea that we should have a look in your bedroom. It was a rather idyllic picture, you peacefully sleeping with your youngest daughters all over you."

"Peacefully?" He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know how good the sweeties are in kicking their poor father's guts! Shortly before you came to wake us Gretl had just pushed her sweet, edgy little knees into a most touchy part of my anatomy. I felt as if I were to become one of the sopranos in the family choir!"

"My poor darling! You're really a martyr!" Maria pitied him. "But I think you've got some undisturbed sleep the rest of the week, didn't you?"

"Well, considered how Brigitta had jumped into my back at Friday – I spent the next night on a hot bottle, feeling like an old man", he complained.

"It didn't keep you from showing of your abilities on horseback the next morning again. Quite an impressive performance you did with the black stallion, I must admit."

"Only I should have changed into riding gear before," Georg said. "Well, at least it got Max a chance to amuse himself – you should have heard the jokes he made while putting salve on my sore butt!"

Maria turned on her side and started to play with the hair on his chest. "It really was time you got to do something relaxing like marrying, wasn't it?"

"Considered what you're just doing I'm not so sure about relaxing, my heart." There was the little hoarseness in his voice again and the way he bent down and kissed her head wasn't as playful as a minute before.

For a moment Maria wondered what had caused this change in him, but then she felt it: Her fingers had found his flat, pink nipple and were stroking it softly. It became firm now and Georg shifted, his hands gliding down her sides again.

Maria remembered how it had felt as he'd kissed her breasts. Was it possible that his chest was just as sensitive to touches as hers? Bending down she tenderly stroked the hair away which covered her target and kissed it then.

"Uh, Maria …" He seemed to shudder, but kept quiet, only the muscles underneath her lips tensed.

He'd given her so much pleasure before, mapping her body with kisses and touches. Now she wanted to discover his – and the thought that she was able to give back something from the joy he'd made her feel went to her head like champagne, making her almost dizzy with happiness and pride.

He pulled her up for another deep kiss, but this time it was Maria who broke it, whispering into his mouth: "I want to touch you. May I?"

"Whatever you want, Maria," he answered, searching for her mouth again.

However, Maria was on a mission. She longed to discover all of her new husband and there was a part of him she hadn't even seen yet. She knew how it felt against her thigh and she remembered how it had filled her and made her complete, but now she wanted to see and to touch it.

Shyly she tugged at the blanket covering his body. "May I?" she asked once again.

"Maria," he took her hand and kissed it. "You may do whatever you want, but you mustn't do something."

"Georg," she let her hand slip under the blanket, stroking his hip, "you're my husband, aren't you? I want to be close to you and I want to get to know your body – all of it."

* * *

_Georg's diary_

Paris, Hotel St. George, March 8, 1938

The ostrich buries his head in the sand – and sometimes at the breast of his wife. I don't need to read the papers for knowing what's happing in my homeland just now. Phone calls don't go through anymore, letters aren't arriving here – it tells me enough. The Anschluss is happening soon – or did it already happen? Are Hitler's men already marching through the streets of Salzburg, trampling down everything I hold dear and once fought for?

Austria is dying. The last weeks we were sitting at its bedside, pretending it will become better soon. Only there isn't any cure. The Austria I've known and loved isn't to exist any longer. The Zellers are taking over, destroying what's been left from our once proud and noble country. Even Salzburg, Mozart's Salzburg, won't be the city of music and smiles anymore, but will become filled with the sound of their nailed boats and the raging of Hitler, the madman who will lead Europe into another war.

I've gone through this kind of insanity once before. I saw men dying for an unworthy cause, I watched boys, just out of school, suffering in pretending to be heroes, I fought for what I believed in only for becoming betrayed. I won't stand by, doing nothing while my sons become sacrificed for a tyrant's evil errand, I won't allow the Nazis to make the boys I've raised to killers. And I will not fight for Hitler either. The Nazis won't get a chance to use me. I will not cooperate with them, even not for the sake of my family. How could it be any "sake" if I'd become one of them, if I'd go against everything I believe of?

Life sometimes is quite ironic, isn't it? I've found a woman to love again, I've got everything to become a happy man again and I wish nothing more as to live a quiet, peaceful live with my Maria and the children. Only there isn't any peace in our homeland anymore.

Were will we find peace? I don't see a future for us in Austria. I even don't see one in Europe anymore.

Maria and I will leave Paris tomorrow. Our honeymoon is over. We'll go back to a home which isn't our home anymore. We'll go home for preparing our departure and for going out into the world, searching for a place to call home again.

It won't be possible to sell the house – it would be too obvious. So I can only hope this spook will be over one day and that we can come back then. Until then I'll need to find somewhere to stay – as far away from Europe and the war which will come.

Heavens, in what did I lead Maria in? Without me interfering in her life she would have become a nun, living safely and peacefully at Nonnberg Abbey. But what would I do without her now? She's my pillar of strength, my comrade, my comfort, my reason to believe in a good God even when the world is falling apart around us. With her at my side I'll be able to get our family through that and together we'll manage to find a new home.

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Thanks to Heidi, my wonderful beta! I think she's doing a great job!

br 

_**Chapter 2: In the new world**_

New York, October 1938

Georg von Trapp suppressed a sigh and, bracing his aching back with one hand, forced a smile. "I want you to relax, gnädige Frau. Simply try to feel the movement of your horse and how it takes you with it …"

How often he'd already given this instruction today? It was no use, especially not in the case of this blonde lady who sat on her horse with all the grace and skill of a sack of potatoes..She had neither the talent nor the love for it and only was there, taking lessons, because horseback riding the "European way" was fashionable, especially when done under the guidance of a true Austrian aristocrat.

Actually Georg had tried to tell his pupils that he was only Ritter von Trapp and therefore certainly not high aristocracy. But now, after a few months of working as a riding-instructor, he'd given up. If they wanted an Aristocrat, he could easily play one for them, making them giggle by kissing their hands and addressing them with "Gnädige Frau" at least twice during every lesson.

It certainly wasn't the life Georg had dreamed of by coming to America, but it was a living, wasn't it? And his job in the stable certainly was better than the one down at the docks he'd done during his first weeks in the new world.

The family's rushed escape from Austria had made Georg unable to transfer as much money as he'd have wanted and or needed. After crossing the border to Switzerland he'd left his exhausted family back in a little town and had travelled to Zurich – only to learn that there wasn't a chance to get his money out of Austria. There had been only a small amount he'd once transferred to Switzerland to keep him afloat during his skiing holidays there – just enough to pay the boarding house, third class train tickets to Genoa and for two modest cabins on a ship to America. The rest of his money was stuck in Austria – the Nazis had frozen his bank accounts and certainly wouldn't give him a chance to get it.

It had been Maria who'd kept the spirit up during this time. She'd taken the news about the money rather calmly, only saying: "Well, we'll have to earn our living then" and announcing: "It will be a big adventure!"

Georg hadn't been so optimistic. On the contrary, he'd been almost sick with worry. During the nights on the ship, listening to the quiet breathing of his sons (with only two cabins he'd shared one with the boys while Maria had slept in the other with the girls) he'd more than once asked himself if he hadn't made a mistake leading his family into this. Had he been egotistical in his decision to leave their homeland? If he had joined the Third Reich's navy then Maria and the children would have gotten the chance to remain in their home, living in comfort and – well, with them keeping their heads down and their mouths shut …

"We could have made it through," he'd said one evening as he'd stood with Maria at the deck, looking out at the dark sea.

She'd shaken her head. "No, Georg, I don't believe so. You know what happened in Germany – it will happen in Austria too. And could you stand to have your sons in the Hitler Youth and your daughters wearing the ugly uniforms of the Nazis' girl organization? Can you imagine our children singing their songs, marching to their tunes, calling out their mantras and learning to despise people only because they're not Arian? And even more, Georg: You always say that Hitler will start a war soon. What would happen to you then, being an officer in his navy? How great, do you think, would your chances of surviving be?"

"Not too big, I suppose," Georg had agreed. "But it's not me we're talking about, but you and the children."

"And what would we do without you, Georg? The children need you and so do I. We belong together and whatever comes we'll make it through this – together. As long as we're together, I don't fear anything."

They'd walked back to their cabins then and in front of the girls' room Georg had taken his wife in his arms. "I love you, Maria. I wouldn't know how to manage without you."

"You would!!" Maria rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him. "You don't know how much I'd like to have you close tonight," she'd whispered in his ear.

"I think I do know," he'd replied, pressing her against him for a moment. "I miss you, Maria, but – we shouldn't go there." He'd let her go, kissed her forehead and almost fled in to the other cabin.

* * *

At this time he'd thought and hoped that their nightly separation would end as soon as they were settled in USA. But now, after almost half a year, he was still sleeping alone – or, more accurately, in the company of his sons. With the little money left to them they could only afford a very small flat in a rather shabby building. A little kitchen, a small bathroom, a living room and two little bedrooms – no more. So the one room which was supposed to be the master bedroom had become Louisa's, Brigitta's, Marta's and Gretl's room while the smaller one, just big enough for a bunk bed and a small single one was where Georg and the boys slept. Maria and Liesl shared a sofa in the living room.

As much as Georg loved his children and wanted to be close to them this kind of closeness wasn't sitting too well with him. He'd been used to a big house, to having a lot of space and to spending time on his own in the sanctuary of his study. And having had servants around all of his life, he was also used on orderliness. Now he'd always have to put something away: a toy, books, school things, or clothes before he could sit down on a chair. He shaved in the kitchen because the bathroom was always occupied by children already too late for school. He couldn't get a moment of his own, not to mention that he couldn't get a moment alone with his wife. The intimate part of his marital life was made up from stolen kisses in the kitchen when the children were in bed – and even these kisses had become rare because at night Maria was always so exhausted she almost fell asleep during dinner. Running a household with nine people and working as a seamstress was too much even for her, despite the fact that Georg and the children helped as much as possible.

To make matters worse, Georg didn't feel too well himself. During the war he'd once injured his back and despite barely visible scar he still felt the old wound, especially after a day of hard work. The first weeks in America working on the docks, carrying heavy loads, had almost broken him. He hadn't wanted Maria to know the toll his job was taking on him – she had enough things to worry about. His sons, however, had noticed how he'd tossed in his bed and moaned in his sleep and Friedrich had told Maria.

It had led to their first big argument. She'd told him he couldn't work at the docks any longer and he, knowing that she was right but not seeing another way to provide for his family, had yelled at her: "What do you expect me to do? Sit around here and watch you work your fingers to the bone? What kind of a man do you think I am?"

Maria's temper had gotten the better of her – she'd raised her voice too: "What kind of a man do I think you are? An exceptionally pig-headed one! What do you want to prove with your stubbornness?"

From there it deteriorated quickly. He told her that she didn't understand him (all the while thinking that he sounded clichéd and stupid) and that he'd always disliked her way of talking back and provoking him. Maria then called his pride "idiotic" and asked him when he would learn to live in the present instead of always looking backwards. Then she'd started to cry and fled to her bed leaving him feeling like the worst husband ever. He'd sworn to himself that he would make up with her the next day, but then in the morning he'd once again stumbled over a pair of boots Kurt hadn't put away. Already edgy after the row and another sleepless night he'd yelled at his son and at Liesl who'd tried to interfere in order to calm him down. Maria, as always, had intervened, scolding him for letting his anger out on the children. "They're not responsible for how badly you are feeling, Georg!"

"Oh, I know – I'm the one responsible for the disaster our life is now! And I even know how much you all despise me for it!" he'd roared and stormed out of the flat.

Coming back in the evening he'd found the children very quiet and Maria still furious. She hardly spoke a word to him but he just didn't feel like bothering to make peace with her. Work had been exceptionally hard on him and the pain in his back had become so bad he was hardly able to stand upright anymore. He'd gone directly to bed after dinner, hiding himself and his misery under his blanket.

For three days the atmosphere in the von Trapp household had been subdued and all too quiet. Then, on the third evening after the argument, Louisa had run in the flat, her eyes beaming with excitement: "Father, father, look who I've met!" Behind her Alois Hrdlitschka, once a professional equestrian at the Spain Riding School in Vienna where Georg had learned to ride, had appeared, grinning from one ear to the other.

"Trust your daughter to find horses even in New York!" he'd said and clapped Georg on the back. "I almost fell from Pluto Deflorata when I suddenly saw her standing at the fence."

"Pluto Deflorata? You have him here?" Georg could barely believe his ears.

"Yes – him and the good old Conversano Theokratia. You remember him, don't you? He was always able to throw you every time you tried a levade with him! You should have seen it, Louisa. It was so funny! First Conversano Theokratia would dig his hoofs in the sand as if he didn't have the slightest idea what Georg wanted from him. Then, when your father became more energetic with his commands, Conny would make one jump upward. It always made Georg slip down from Conny's back and fall on his backside. He'd be down in the sand looking like a beetle on its back."

Later that evening, sitting on the sofa in the living room, Alois told the family how he'd come to America. He'd been hired by an American circus and being the son of a Jewish mother he'd seen this as his chance to escape from Europe and the Nazis. Originally, he'd had three stallions with him in America, but he eventually he sold one of his stallions and used the money to rent a stable close to the Central Park. "Now I've got a dozen horses of my own and around another dozen to care for – paid, of course, and handsomely, as I would like to add. The business is going well – horse back riding is very fashionable among the posh people in New York nowadays. And Georg, you're just the man I need for making even more money. You know, I was always better at managing horses than I was at riding them. But with your talent as a rider and instructor, your posh European accent and your looks – New York's society ladies will trample all over me for getting lessons from you or having their horses ridden by you." He'd rubbed his hands, his brown eyes beaming. "Georg, we can make a fortune if we work together!"

Georg had been rather skeptical about working in the stables, but Maria loved the idea. "It's better than your job in the docks in every way. Plus you'll have horses around – and you love horses, don't you?"

Louisa had seconded her: "You're so good at teaching people how to ride, father!"

"And it will be better for your back!" Friedrich had added.

So after another week and another talk with Alois, Georg had quit the docks, bought a pair of used riding boats and breeches and had started working at the stable. Maria had been right – it was a much better job than the one at the docks. Sometimes in the mornings, if he wasn't teaching an untalented and spoiled society lady, he was able to work with the horses. Georg enjoyed that very much, especially after Alois, generous friend as always, had given him Conversano Theokratia to work with. "We don't want you to spoil your style by always working young horses or those in need of correction. Besides watching you with Conny will make our female clients even more infatuated with you. They will want to learn to ride as you do – and therefore they'll buy more lessons and more horses. We'll be able to start a breeding farm too and then we'll come into real money. Just you wait and see, Georg – you'll live on your own land again soon!"

Georg's wishes, however, had grown much humbler since he had come to America. A house, big enough to allow Maria and him a bedroom of their own, would already be enough. But there were so many other things that were even more important, such as the children's clothes, books and education. Liesl was soon to graduate from high school and to go on to college. Friedrich, who'd started piano lessons back in Austria and had become quite good, had found a piano to practice on in his school, but he actually needed one of his own and a better teacher. Kurt was growing so fast he needed new clothes almost every half year and Brigitta longed to start cello lessons for which she would need to have an instrument of her own.

The only von Trapp child who didn't long for something was Louisa. She was probably the one in the family who was truly happy about moving to New York. Back in Austria she'd always been scolded for being a tomboy and spending so much time in the stables, but now she wasn't only allowed there as soon as she was out of school, she even got paid by Alois for helping the groom clean out the stalls, feed the horses and prepare them for lessons or work. Besides she used every possible opportunity to get in the saddle herself. Alois supported her in that, telling Georg that Louisa on horseback was good for the business, too. "Or do you know a better way to show how decent a horse is than showing the customers your daughter riding it?" Of course, when it came to the dressage lessons it was still Georg who presented the horses, but Louisa was becoming better every day and soon she would be able to do the entire show.

Georg was proud of his daughter and he enjoyed being so close to her. However, even sharing so much time with Louisa didn't make up for the distance which had developed between Maria and him. Georg still loved her, but he wasn't sure about her feelings anymore. She was a wonderful mother to his children and, despite being so busy with the household and her work, she still managed to play and to sing with them. But Georg could hardly remember when she'd last spend time with him. Just the other day he tried to invite her to go on a little stroll in the evening, but Maria had declined, pointing to the rather ugly lilac dress she was working on. "Mrs Summers – you know the lady from the baker's shop? – wants this tomorrow." Then she'd kissed his cheek. "Why don't you play a bit with the children?" She was treating him like one of her charges and sometimes he wasn't sure if she still remembered that he actually was supposed to be more to her than another family member to feed and to look after.

Georg quickly came back to the present. The blonde was almost finished with her lesson now and she looked it. Her hair was hanging in her sweaty face, her cheeks had become flushed under the heavy make-up she was wearing and she was gasping for air like a goldfish out of its bowl. Georg decided to give her a moment to collect herself – he'd long before lost hope that she'd collect her horse once as well. "Walk, please," Georg instructed "and let him have the reins." The brown gelding used that as a chance to throw his head up and Georg cursed inwardly. This horse certainly was too clever for a weak rider like his owner. Georg would need to ride him soon in order to get him back in shape. Unfortunately he couldn't do it directly after the lesson – his next customer, Miss "Just call me Tipper" Burrows, the exceptionally beautiful and exceptionally spoiled only daughter of an exceptionally wealthy widower was already waiting in the stands. Through the door of the stable he could see that Louisa was grooming the rather nervous thoroughbred mare, "Just call me Tipper" had bought only two weeks before because "she's got such a cute face, hasn't she?" Yet the cuteness of the mare's face didn't – at least in Georg's opinion – make up for her being extremely headstrong and temperamental. The mare, though only five years old, had had a bad experience with humans, therefore she spent most of her time under the saddle attempting to get rid of her rider.

"Let's try to canter, shall we?" Georg suggested to the blonde. "Tighten up on the reins again, sit firm, but relaxed – and now trot! Canter in the next corner – half halt, right leg back, lead him with the outer rein and get him in position with the inner one."

It didn't work – of course it didn't with the blonde falling forward on her horse's shoulder. "Well, we'll try again in the next corner – canter now!" Georg commanded. It once again didn't work out. "Half halt and walk." Georg stepped closer. "Your problem is that you're always falling forward. Your horse can't canter with your weight on its shoulders. Just sit back and keep your position. Shall we try it again?"

"Oh, Baron – why is it so difficult?" the blonde complained.

"It's rather easy when once you've got the feel of it – and I'm sure you'll learn it soon!" he comforted her. "Now trot again – and in the next corner the famous half halt, then your right leg goes back while you sit firmly on your backside."

This time it worked, at least in so far in that the brown gelding started to canter. Georg once again suppressed a sigh. "Wrong canter, gnädige Frau. We want him to strike off on off fore. Half halt, trot and a new start in the next corner, please!"

"I'm really exhausted now, Baron!" the blonde whined. "You're rather hard on me, you know?"

Georg forced a smile. "Only for your good. I want you to learn as much as possible. Anything else would be a sad waste of talent."

The only question was: Whose talent? The one of the gelding or the one of the instructor? The rider certainly didn't have any.

"Door free?" Louisa was there, holding the black mare on her reins.

"Door is free," Georg confirmed, smiling at his daughter. Turning his eyes back to his pupil, he said: "I'm sure you'll manage one time more. We can't send him back into his stall like that, can we? So please, concentrate and try again."

The brown gelding had probably figured out now that his only way to finish was to canter on the right foreleg – despite the odd movements his rider was making. He fell into a rather lazy canter and Georg decided that he would for once not notice how much the horse was sparing itself. He would get him back in shape tomorrow, that would be enough. "Half halt, walk and let him stretch," he commanded. "Nicely done, gnädige Frau – and didn't I say you could do it?"

The blonde made her horse walk into the middle of the indoor arena where Georg was now standing. Smiling at him, she said: "I'm really, really exhausted now, Baron. But it was a good lesson, wasn't it?"

"It was fine." Georg stroked the gelding's neck. "If you want, my daughter can take over getting him dry and back in his stall", he offered.

"That would be nice!" She reached out for his shoulders and let herself slide down from her horse into his arms, pressing herself against him and looking up at him with what she obviously believed was a seductive glance. Georg forced another smile, maneuvered himself out of her reach and stroked the gelding's sweaty neck again. "Could you just hold him for a moment so that I can take over my next horse?" he asked her.

She'd obviously not given up on him yet. "Thank you for the lesson, Baron!" She batted her eyes. "When will we see each other again?" She made the question sound as if they were to have a date and Georg cringed inwardly once more.

Heavens, he was wearing his wedding ring, he usually had his daughter with him, he frequently mentioned his wife – what more would it take to make those women get that he wasn't available? But being charming was part of his job, so he smiled, took the blonde's hand and bent over it for the hint of a hand kiss. "I think our next lesson will be on Tuesday. I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I, dear Baron, so am I!" She looked at him as if she'd like to eat him alive and Georg, felt cold shudder running down his back.

"I wish you a nice day!" He nodded and turned around to Louisa who was waiting just a few steps away, tenderly stroking the mare's nose. "Louisa, please take over the gelding. Ten minutes walk, then he goes back in his stall."

Louisa nodded, but bit her bottom lip. As he came closer to her, she whispered: "Be careful, father. The mare is pretty fidgety today."

"Thanks – and don't worry!" He checked the girth of the saddle, took up the reins and mounted the mare. As always she immediately tried to run forward, but Georg stopped her – she needed to learn that she was only to move when he allowed it. Collecting the reins in his left hand where he already held his crop, he turned the mare so that she was standing in front of the stands, lifted his cap and smiled at the lady up there. "Hello, Miss Burrows. It's nice to see you."

"Oh, just call me Tipper, Baron! And I must say, you look rather dashing on my mare. Isn't she a cutie?" Brunette Tipper Burrows crossed her long legs, showing Georg a generous amount of skin, On this day she was wearing a rather short skirt, a silken shirt which with an amount of décolletage Georg would have thought suitable at the opera, but certainly not in the stables. And her high heels would probably require his assistance in getting down from the stands.

"Let's see what the cutie is up to today," Georg gave back, using his back to keep the "cutie" from running away once again The mare tried to turn around to the left and to take her head up, ready to fight her rider. "Calm down, there!" Georg stroked her neck before he took the reins up again. Since Louisa had already walked with her for ten minutes, the mare was warmed-up and wanted to run. Georg started a trot, cursing inwardly because the mare was tense and her movement felt very uncomfortable. She wasn't exactly what the doctor would have ordered for his back and he could feel the ache in it growing worse.

Georg clenched his teeth reminding himself that working at the docks had been worse for his back than this, and concentrated on his horse. Louisa had been right about her: The mare was extremely fidgety and absolutely not willing to let him calm her down. Instead she used every opportunity to speed up and to fight against his aides. Georg talked to her soothingly while trying to get her to a relaxed trot: circle, volte, serpent lines, circle again, big serpent lines, volte to the left, volte to the right, shoulder-in – she was giving in now, already sweating with white foam flocking her neck and chest. Yet she was still tense and Georg decided to give her a chance to let off some steam. A canter would probably get her to cooperate fully, so he put his leg back.

Just this moment "just call me Tipper," waiting in the stands, let her silver powder box drop. With a loud clatter it landed on the wooden stairs and fell down the rest of the way, startling the mare. She exploded, jumping in the air with all four legs, bucking like a rodeo horse. Georg didn't have the slightest chance – as she raised her rear in the air, kicking out with her hind legs, he was catapulted out of the saddle, knocking his ride side hard against the wall of indoor arena before falling.

For a moment he couldn't breathe. The hard landing had knocked the wind out of him. Struggling for air he closed his eyes, turned on his back and concentrated on moving his toes and hands. He felt with relief that everything worked which meant that his spine was still in one piece. Yet he still couldn't get enough air and felt a bit dizzy, so he allowed himself to simply lie there for a moment.

Suddenly Louisa was there. "Father?" Her voice was terrified. "Father, are you hurt?"

Struggling for breath he sat up and opened his eyes to see at her face looking back at him, pale with worry. "I'm ..." still gasping, he shook his head. "I'm fine," he managed to say. "Don't worry."

"Georg – are you okay?" Alois came close, holding the black mare.

And then there was Tipper Burrows, wringing her hands. "Oh no, Baron – what have I done? Alois, shouldn't we call for a doctor?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Georg repeated and stood up, bracing himself against the wall.

"Shall I take over, Georg?" Alois asked.

"Certainly not!" Georg stretched and limped to him – his hip was now hurting even more than his back – and took the reins of the mare. "But you can help me up."

"Are you sure?" Alois still looked worried.

"Don't you remember?" Georg tried to joke. "Carrying your head under your arm is the only excuse for not getting up again after a fall!" he reminded his friend of the favourite sayings of their former instructor. "My head is still where it belongs. So I need to get back in the saddle." He put his knee in the hand Alois offered him, let his friend jerk him up and collected the reins. "Okay, thanks, Alois!"

"Be careful, Georg, will you?" Alois took Tipper Burrows' arm. "Let's go out, shall we?"

"Are you sure the Baron is okay?" She couldn't tear her eyes away from Georg who'd just started to trot the mare again.

"Georg's fine!" Alois assured her.

Georg definitely didn't feel fine in the moment, though. His chest and hip hurt and he knew, he'd develop some nasty bruises. But dealing with such little incidents was part of his job, wasn't it? He didn't intend to whine about.

* * *

Nevertheless Georg wasn't well when he came home two hours later. On their way back in the subway he'd asked Louisa to keep quiet about his fall. "You know, your mother is already rather afraid of horses and worries a great deal. She doesn't need to know about this little incident."

Louisa hadn't been happy about his request. "What am I to say when she asks how our day went?"

"You can tell her it was nothing out of the ordinary." Georg had tried a grin. "Falling is quite normal for a rider, isn't it? There's certainly no need to make a big fuss about it."

Luckily neither Louisa nor Georg was asked about their day in the stable. Instead Brigitta was already waiting for her sister at the door, all excitement: "There you are at last! We thought you would never come back! You must change immediately – we're going to sing!"

Liesl joined Brigitta. "Isn't it great?" she added. "We'll sing something really demanding – Handel's Te Deum in D major. It's a great piece and we're going to have a lot of fun with it."

Georg wrinkled his forehead. "Could someone please explain to me what you're talking about?" He felt already slightly annoyed – hadn't he made it very clear that he didn't want his children to sing in public? The Salzburg folk festival had been the exception to the rule and having participated in it certainly didn't mean he was allowing his family to become a band with a circus now.

Maria stood in the threshold of the kitchen. "I've allowed the children to sing in the St. Agnes choir. I thought you'd be fine with it since they'll be singing in the church – that isn't exactly public, isn't it?" she said. "I was talking to Father O'Donnell this morning and he told me he'd like to do some baroque music, only he would need a few more really good singers. And he's got this wonderful old lady – Mrs. Armstrong from around the corner – who was once a great opera singer. She'll give the singers from the choir voice lessons for free. It's such a great opportunity for the children, Georg. You know how much they like to sing - and it's in a church!"

"I would have liked to been asked before you agreed to this," he said stiffly.

"Georg," she started again, but was interrupted by Kurt running out of the bathroom, loudly announcing: "I'm ready – can we go now?"

"Georg, your dinner is in the oven," Maria announced, obviously trying to distract him.

"I'll have a shower then," Georg sighed, turning to the bathroom.

"Oh, father – I'm afraid there's no warm water left," Friedrich said regretfully. "You see, I've just come back from school and we had been playing baseball …"

"Oh thanks, Friedrich!" Georg's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It's always great to learn how much you care about me. I mean, it's not like I would normally come home around this time, needing a shower."

"I'm sorry, father. I didn't think of it." Friedrich bit his bottom lip and looked at Maria.

"Georg, why don't you have your dinner first and then shower?" she suggested.

"Because I've still not entirely given up on civilization!" he said coldly. "I refuse to have dinner in my riding gear. But don't worry about me – it's said that cold showers are good for the cardiovascular system." Georg stalked of the bathroom without looking back at his wife and the children who were watching him with the familiar "Careful – he's in one of his moods again!" looks. He knew that he'd overreacted, but sometimes he felt as if the entire family had ganged up against him.

Coming out of the bathroom a little while later, wrapped in a flannel dressing gown, Georg found the flat unusually quiet. His family was obviously gone and so he was surprised to see Maria sitting in the kitchen, for once not working, with her hands in her lap.

"What are you doing here? I thought you were to go to sing," he asked.

"I know the piece – I sang it once back in Salzburg," Maria answered with a forced smile. "Besides I thought you'd perhaps like company for your dinner. I've made a salad andastew."

"What about Louisa? Did she eat something?" he asked, sitting down at the table where Maria had set out a dish and cutlery for him.

"I made her a sandwich." Maria was up on her feet again, putting a bowl of stew on the table.

"Good." Georg nodded. He actually wasn't hungry, but tired and sore. In the mirror of the bathroom he'd inspected his chest and hip and discovered that there were already bad bruises developing.

Maria served some salad onto his dish and sat down again. "How was your day, Georg?"

"The usual," he replied briefly. "And yours?"

"Rather nice," Maria replied. "Father O'Donnell is delighted with the new drapes I made for his study. He's found me another job. There's a very nice young woman in his parish, a widow who's to marry again soon. She's got a bit of money and she wants a very special wedding gown which I'll be sewing for her."

"Well, we can do with the money", Georg said, eating his salad. As always he felt awkward when thinking about his wife working for money. Only half a year earlier as he'd married her, he'd thought of spoiling her with everything money could buy. Now she was working through the nights in order to keep the family afloat.

"There's something even better, Georg!" Maria was beaming now. "You remember the Millers? The nice, older couple we met at the church two weeks before? They live in a flat over the shop opposite of St. Agnes – and they're probably going to move soon. Mr. Miller is going to retire and they want to live close to their only daughter who's married in Florida. Father O'Donnell knows the landlord of the Millers and says we could probably have the flat."

Georg had gotten up, put his salad dish in the sink and was reaching for the pot with stew now. Turning around with it, he bumped against one of the many chairs – the kitchen really was too small and too cramped – and winced because of his injured hip.

"Georg? Are you okay?" Maria asked worried.

"Apart from hating that the children never put their chairs back under the table – yes!" he answered, more sharply than he'd intended. Sitting down again, he spooned some of the stew into his bowl and looked skeptically at it. Of course, he appreciated that Maria did all the cooking, but even as in his most charming mood he wouldn't have said that she was very talented at it. Trying to soften his tone, he asked: "Can we afford the flat?"

"The rent is twenty dollars more than this one," Maria replied, biting her lower lip.

"Twenty dollars? That's a bit much." He tried the first bite of stew, chewing slowly on the rather tough meat.

"I've done some calculations, Georg," Maria looked at him with hope in her eyes. "We can manage, I'm sure we can. I'll get more good jobs and you're doing so well in the stables – we certainly can manage. And it's such a nice flat, Georg! It's got four rooms and there are even two little chambers up at the attic. We could give them to Liesl and Louisa – they'd love to have rooms of their own! And then we could use the one bedroom for the little girls and the other, smaller one, for the boys and we'd still have a living room and," she was blushed slightly and reached for his hand, "a bedroom for us. Wouldn't that be nice, Georg?"

"Considering how badly Kurt snores, I'd certainly enjoy it," he answered, swallowing another bite of the stew and patting her hand. Pushing his dish aside, he looked up at her. "I'm afraid, I'm not very hungry today. Thank you, nevertheless, for the meal."

"I know you don't like stew much," Maria said, taking the pot away and putting it in the sink. "But," she smiled apologetically at him, "it's not expensive and doesn't take much time to prepare."

"Maria," he sighed, "I admit I was rather spoiled back at home. But I survived almost ten years eating in the Imperial Navy where people maintained that the quality of a ship's food is reciprocal to its strength in combat. If this were true, we would have been invincible."

Maria smiled and cleared the table, putting his second dish in the sink as well. "Georg?" She turned and looked at him. "I believe this is the first time we've been alone - with all the children away - since we've been here."

"Yes – and isn't it oddly quiet here without them?" He rose, pouring himself a glass of water. After drinking it he put it in the sink with the rest of his dishes.

Maria only seemed to have waited for him having his hands free. Stepping closer, she hugged him, her lips gliding over his jaw.

He hadn't been prepared for her sudden closeness, but his body reacted immediately to it, a rush of arousal making him almost dizzy. And now her hand was on the back of his neck and his mouth found hers, kissing her deeply and passionately. She pulled even closer, bumping against his chest. Georg winced again, breaking the kiss – heavens, that had hurt.

"What's the matter, Georg?" Maria was still stroking the back of his neck, watching him anxiously.

"Nothing." He inhaled deeply, took her hand away from his neck and kissed it while backing away from her. "I just don't think that's a good idea."

"We're alone, Georg. The children won't be back for another hour," Maria whispered, her soft voice luring him.

"Nevertheless it's not a good idea," he repeated firmly. "I absolutely refuse to be caught in flagrante delicto by my children. Besides," he looked around in the small kitchen with the shabby furniture they'd bought second hand, "I certainly don't intend to get you pregnant now. We've got already seven children to worry about; we really don't need another one."

Maria paled and looked at him with as if he'd just slapped her. "You said once you'd like to have more children!" she whispered.

"Here?" He shook his head. "Maria, are you insane? How could we have another child here, in an already overcrowded, messy flat with hardly enough money to provide for the needs of the children we already have? Maria, you really must be out of your mind!" All the frustration of the last months was surfacing and he couldn't stop himself. "My dear wife, I think it's time you face reality. We're stuck in misery, struggling for the simplest needs of our daily life with you already having too much work …"

"We're together, Georg," she interrupted him. "And we're free and safe."

"Oh heavens, Maria – stop playing the saint!" Georg exploded. "You can't tell me you like how we live here. So just finish pretending and treating me like a fool. The children aren't here; you don't need to do the usual motherly encouragement show. Be honest for once!"

"Honest?" Maria's eyes were burning and her voice was shaking with fury now. "You don't want me to be honest! It could lead to me telling you what I really dislike about our life here!"

"And that would be?" he bellowed.

"Why, Captain? For once you want to hear what I've got to tell you?" She gripped the back of the chair with such force that her knuckles grew white. "Well, here we go: I immensely dislike that my husband is wallowing in self-pity because he can't have the spoiled life he was used to anymore. I dislike watching how you spend your time brooding and I can't stand it when you upset the children with your sarcasm only because something didn't go exactly how you wanted it to go."

"Thank you for telling me." He sat down, folding his hands and looking up at her with cold eyes. "Anything more, my dear?"

"Oh yes!" Maria was breathing hard. "You want me to face reality, Georg? How about trying it yourself for once? You've got seven healthy, beautiful, talented children who never complain about what they've lost, but who love and adore you, even when you don't deserve it! They've gone through so much with you, but instead of appreciating it you're still not able to see what a great gift they are."

"It seems I'm an ungrateful wretch," he answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yes, you are!" she shouted, balling her fists.

"Well, then we've cleared this up. It's interesting to learn how you see me." He sounded calm but actually felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"That's how you make me see you," Maria sank down on the chair, tears running over her cheeks. "Georg, sometimes I think I don't know you anymore. You've forgotten how to smile. You don't know what's important in life anymore. You don't even notice how much the children struggle just to make you proud!"

"Well, as we've just established: I'm an ungrateful wretch."

"God, Georg – I hate it when you do that!" Maria shook her head.

"You seem to hate a lot about me nowadays," he replied, standing up. "Well, I can't help it, so it's probably better I go to bed now. I'm tired and tomorrow will be a long day."

"Georg …"

He only shook his head and stalked out of the kitchen, closing the door behind him quietly. His entire body seemed to hurt now and he actually felt like crying. He'd known Maria's temper; he even knew that he'd provoked her. Nevertheless her words had hurt, deeply hurt. She didn't know him anymore? He didn't deserve his children's love and adoration? Probably he didn't deserve her love anymore either. He'd obviously lost it – and he didn't know how to live without it.

To be continued.

"Gnädige Frau" is a rather old-fashioned, German formal address for a lady. In Georg von Trapp's time it was already "typical Austrian" to use it.

"Ritter" "Knight". The title, in rank and position alike to the English "Sir", was bestowed by the Austrian emperor to the true Georg Ludwig von Trapp for his merits as a naval officer.

At the Spain Riding School in Vienna only white Lipizzan stallions become presented. And they've got always "double names": The first one after the line their father is from (and there are five lines in the Lipizzan breeding: Pluto, Conversano, Maestoso, Siglavy, Neapolitano) and for the second one the name of their mother.


	3. Chapter 3

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

And once again: A big thank you to my wonderful beta Heidi! She's doing miracles on this story.

_**Chapter**__**3: Moving on**_

New York, November 1938

Wrapping her arms around herself, Maria walked through the aisle of the stable, carefully keeping away from the horses on her left and right. She'd always been afraid of horses. They were too big for her and their teeth and hooves seemed dangerous and excessive. However, her nervousness around the big beasts wasn't the only reason why she so rarely came to the riding school. Most days she simply didn't have time for this trip that covered half of the city. She was always so busy these days managing the household and keeping up with her work as a seamstress. And in the last two weeks – well, things between Georg and her were still not going well. They were hardly talking to each other. Since their argument he'd distanced himself from her, keeping her at arm's length with a cold politeness. She knew she'd hurt him and she regretted it, but how could she apologize to him when she couldn't get him on his own? He had definitely taken at least some of her words to heart: He spent all his free time with the children, he accompanied them to church for their choir rehearsals and never missed an opportunity to tell them how proud he was of their singing and accomplishments at school. But he hadn't been alone with Maria - even for a moment - since their fight two weeks before, and she was certain that was intentional on his part.

"Maria – how wonderful to see you!" Alois had discovered her. Coming out of his little office at the end of the aisle, he took her hand and bent over it for a formal kiss. "You look lovely!"

"Thank you, Alois. It's nice to see you too," Maria smiled back. Alois Hrditschlka had become a real friend and she always enjoyed it when he came to visit.

"Why do I think you didn't come just to see me?" Alois smiled. "But I'm afraid your husband isn't available at the moment. He's outriding with Tipper Burrows." He looked up at the clock on the wall. "Admittedly they should be returning soon – if that little beast of hers hasn't gotten Georg in trouble again."

"What do you mean?" Maria asked, suddenly feeling a knot in her stomach.

Alois took her arm and led her through the stable to the back pasture where a bench stood next to the outdoor arena. "From here we can see them coming back. And it's a nice day for November, isn't it?" he said, offering Maria a place on the bench.

Maria followed Alois but the knot in her stomach was just growing bigger. She knew that Georg was a very capable rider but something in her didn't like or trust horses. It was a beautiful day for November. She should have been warmer now that she was out in the sun, but she had grown colder at the thought of him being out on a horse that could give him trouble. "The horse Georg is riding – what's the problem with it?" Maria insisted.

"Oh, well …" Alois sighed. "Didn't he tell you how he was thrown two weeks before? I was just coming in to the hall as he was sent flying and crashed against the wall. At first I was afraid he'd broken every bone in his body. Fortunately I was wrong about that but I'm sure he cracked at least two ribs. But you know how stubborn Georg is. Immediately afterwards he was in the saddle again, showing the beast how to behave. And the next morning the both of them were fighting out here again – I really thought she'd kill him that time! Well, that's the horse he's out on now. Georg is a great horseman, and she hasn't thrown him since then, but still – I only trust her as far as I could throw her single-handedly. It's so often the same here: People buy horses they can't handle and then they expect us to deal with them, not realizing that we risk our bones every time we ride such a beast."

Maria had already stopped listening to him. She felt as if a cold hand had gripped her heart and squeezed it. Two weeks ago … that was the night of their fight. Hadn't he winced as he'd bumped against the chair in the kitchen and flinched as she'd embraced him? And hadn't he been rather pale that night? And then there was the way Louisa had looked at him at breakfast the next morning when she'd asked him if he'd work with the mare again ... how could she have not seen that he'd been hurt and was in pain?

"He didn't tell me," she said quietly.

"Oh, he didn't?" Alois whistled quietly and winced inwardly, knowing that he'd inadvertently opened a can of worms. "Then I'm in trouble – he'll want my head for talking about it." Alois rolled his eyes. "You know how he is, Maria – proud to no end. And probably he didn't want you to worry about him. He always says you've got enough to worry about already."

"I would probably worry less if he'd tell me more!" Maria answered heatedly, then immediately bit her lip in regret. She hadn't meant to say that. As good a friend as Alois was, she didn't intend to talk about her problems with Georg to anyone.

Luckily Alois hadn't understood her. He thought she was talking about that one incident rather than talking in general. "Maria," he patted her hand, "you really mustn't fret too much. Georg is a damn good rider. You know, they wanted to keep him at the Spain Riding School back in Vienna. They actually offered him a place as a professional there – a big honour for someone who came as a private pupil. He's really very talented and could certainly have become a master in the school. It's actually quite a pity that he liked the sea even more than he did horses."

"I understand he was a good naval officer too," Maria smiled, glad to be on safe ground again.

"Oh, certainly. One doesn't get knighted by the emperor for anything less than outstanding service. Your husband was a true hero, Maria."

"Well, I believe he still is," Maria replied seriously. "The way he got us out of Austria …" She shuddered remembering how he'd faced the young Nazi in the Abbey. She'd felt like she'd been dying with fear yet he'd stood there so calmly in front of a gun, trying to persuade the boy who was pointing it at him to leave the Nazis and escape with them. And then on their way over the mountains he'd encouraged and cheered up the children, carrying his youngest almost all the way… at that time she'd thought that nothing could ever come between. Despite of the sadness about leaving their homeland, she'd also been happy and looking forward to their future in America.

"Look, they're coming!" Alois pointed with his chin to a path which led in the park.

At the far end of the path, framed by old and towering trees, two horses and two riders were approaching. Maria recognized the white stallion the woman was riding – it was one of Alois' lipizzans. On the other horse, an elegant black mare, she saw Georg. He was ram road straight but at the same time looked relaxed as only a truly talented rider can. As the quartet came closer Maria could make out her husband's face, his blue eyes accented by the blue jacket he was wearing, his skin tanned. The hair at his temples had greyed in the last months, but Maria thought it made Georg look even more handsome and distinguished.

Watching him she felt almost overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. What had happened to them? She loved him, loved him even more than ever and only wished to be close to him again. Why couldn't she? Why was it so difficult to talk to him, to apologize for how she'd hurt him and to tell him that she ached for his love, his tenderness and the closeness they'd once shared?

The young woman riding next to him was talking and Georg, listening to her while playing with his mare's mane, laughed with her, his eyes twinkling. Maria swallowed hard – although the woman was a brunette, she reminded her of the baroness. She possessed the same kind of elegance and self-confidence, the same kind of perfectly groomed beauty. Maria looked down at herself and felt shabby in comparison. It had been a spontaneous idea to come to the stables and she hadn't changed clothes before leaving. Subsequently she was wearing a simple brown skirt and a beige linen shirt further simplified by firm, flat shoes and woollen stockings. And her hands – they'd become red and raw from all the washing and sewing. Her nails were broken and she hadn't managed to wash her hair that morning because there hadn't been any warm water once again.

She suddenly realized that it hadn't been a good idea to come to the stables looking like that. Georg would probably feel embarrassed that his wife looked like a kitchen maid. However, it was too late to disappear now. Alois had risen up and was waving. "Georg, look who's here!"

"Maria!" He wrinkled his forehead though she couldn't tell if it was in concern or admonition. "Anything wrong at home?"

"No, no, no – everything's fine," she answered quickly.

"Good." He turned and looked at the young woman who was waiting for him and also studying Maria curiously. "Will you excuse me for a moment, Maria? It was more of a statement than a request. "Alois, could you?" He dismounted the mare, giving his friend the reins and stepped over to the white stallion. Stroking his neck, he smiled up at Tipper Burrows. "That went well, didn't it?"

"It always goes well when you're looking after me, Georg!" The woman swung her leg over the stallion's backside and slid down in Georg's open arms, immediately turning and putting her hands on his shoulders. "And you're so good with the mare! I was so afraid when she bolted so suddenly, but you got her under control so quickly."

"There was no reason for you to fear – Conversano Theokratia is too well-mannered to get his rider in trouble," Georg said, stepping away from the woman and clapping the stallion's back.

"I wasn't afraid for myself but for you, Georg!" the brunette responded, pressing in close to him again.

The groom ran out of the stables, obviously sent by Alois who'd led the mare in. "Shall I take Conny, Mr. von Trapp?"

"Yes, Jimmy – thank you. Only let me have a look at his right fore leg first. I think his shoe is getting loose again." Georg bent down to check on the stallion's leg. "Hmm – he will need the farrier soon. " Standing up he clapped the stallion's neck once more. "Good boy! Off you go."

The brunette was at his side again, now placing her hand on his arm. "What do you think about another excursion tomorrow? The weather's still so nice …"

"I'm afraid my schedule is rather full tomorrow," Georg answered, smiling his half-smile. "Besides, your cutie needs real work tomorrow."

"Well, then – when will you ride her? You know, I like watching." The woman was nothing if not persistent.

"Around eleven, I think." Georg looked at Maria. "But now let me introduce you ladies to each other. Maria, meet Tipper Burrows, one of my pupils. Tipper, this is my wife, Maria von Trapp."

Maria forced a smile while Tipper Burrows once more scrutinized her from head to toe. "It's so nice to get to know you at last!" she finally exclaimed. "May I call you Maria? Such a nice name and besides I feel as if I'd have known you for years with your daughter – and what a sweet girl your Louisa is and so like you – always talking about you. However, she didn't tell me how young you look – not at all like a mother of seven. Oh, am I talking too quickly? Georg and Louisa speak English so perfectly, I always forget that you're not native speakers!"

Maria couldn't help herself, she felt like throttling the woman. What had this posh client thought? That Georg's wife was a fat, stupid matron who after half a year in USA still didn't understand English, and that Georg was therefore available to be hunted and flirted with by bored society girls? This one obviously had developed a heavy crush on him and didn't mind in the least that he was married.

If necessary, Maria could play that game too – and now she found it necessary. "Our children are almost native English speakers," she answered sweetly. "Their mother, Georg's first wife, was British. So I'm the only one in the family with a heavy accent, but Georg says he thinks it quite cute, don't you, Schätzchen?(1)" Possessively she put her hand on his arm, smiling up at him.

For a moment she saw amusement in his eyes and even a tiny smile. He was getting ready to say something, but the groom's voice interrupted. "Mr. von Trapp, shall I get Sigi ready now?"

"Yes, please – and I need a lunge and the Vienna reins. I'll lunge him first," Georg answered. "Tipper, would you please excuse me? I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded farewell to his pupil, took Maria's arm and led her a few steps away. "I take it you didn't just come to defend my virtue," he said, sounding cold and sarcastic once more.

"Is that necessary, Georg?" The moment Maria uttered the words she already regretted them. When had she become so jealous? She was sure it wouldn't sit well with him and indeed – his eyes became icy now.

"Certainly not. I've still some honour and dignity left, thank you very much," he replied bitingly.

Maria swallowed, once more cursing her outspokenness. Try as she would to curb it, it was still one of her worst faults. When would she finally learn to keep her mouth shut? "I'm sorry, Georg," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to insult you."

"Okay, then why did you come all the way out here, Maria?"

"I actually came to tell you that we can rent the flat I was talking to you about. The Millers are moving next week and their landlord would like to have us as his new tenants. He's rather fond of children and says that ours are especially nice – so well-behaved and kind. And Mrs. Miller said she'd let us some of her furniture for very little money. She can't take all of it with her and besides she wants new furniture in her new life. We can get almost all of her kitchen supplies and furnishings and even the double bed she only bought two years before. She says it would be too expensive to move it." Maria stopped, knowing that she was babbling. She'd been so happy and excited about the news, but now after the interactions with Tipper and Georg, she felt like crying.

"Well, well, a flat over a cheese shop with some cheap, used furniture in it – isn't that what we've always dreamed of?" Georg said, one eyebrow up again.

Maria felt the anger bubbling up inside her but fought it down. What had she expected? For her the flat over the cheese shop sounded like a wonderful opportunity, but Georg probably would never stop longing for the home he'd lost. "Shall we rent it, Georg? It really would be better than where we live now."

"Of course we'll rent it – at least it will give us some space to breathe."

The stable boy was bringing out a grey stallion. Georg looked at it, sighed and turned to Maria again. "You'll have to excuse me. I have work to do." Bending slightly he placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you for coming out here."

One thing Maria could always depend on with her husband was that his manners would be impeccable. But suddenly she wasn't sure if she really liked this trait. Lately he'd mostly used politeness as a shield to keep her away from his thoughts and feelings.

He was now in the middle of the outdoor arena, checking the grey stallion's saddle and talking quietly to him. Maria found herself almost envying the horse – when had Georg last looked at her with so much tenderness?

Sighing she turned away. Standing there and watching him like a love sick teenager wouldn't do her any good and could irritate him. But it hurt to leave like that and on her way back to the subway Maria felt sad, tired and drained. Once, less than a year ago, she'd been absolutely convinced that marrying him was the right thing to do. He'd loved her, hadn't he? And he'd said "forever" and promised her "until death do us part". Now, not even a year later, it was his honour and dignity which kept him away from other women – only honour and dignity, no longer his love for her.

The Baroness had been right about him. What had she said about Georg being in love with Maria? "He'll get over it soon enough, I should think. Men do." For some time Maria had wanted to believe that it had been jealousy and hurt pride that had made the Baroness talk like that. But now she suddenly felt a little ashamed that she'd thought so badly about the Baroness. Elsa von Schraeder had been fond of Georg and he'd given her reasons to believe that he returned her feelings. Yet he'd gotten over his affection for Elsa soon enough, hadn't he? And now he'd obviously overcome his so called love for Maria too.

Why did it hurt so badly? Why did she feel as if her world was crumbling around her and that she would never laugh or sing again? She'd called him an ungrateful wretch, but now she felt that she deserved no better. Hadn't he given her what she'd never even dared to dream off? She had seven wonderful children who were her pride and joy, who filled her heart with tenderness and love. And yes, in the moment it wasn't easy to provide for them, but Maria had been used to hard work all her life. She'd grown up on a farm and her uncle had expected her to help as much as possible, even when she'd still been a little girl. She'd milked cows, carried heavy buckets, cleaned out stables, helped in the kitchen and on the fields every day of her young life and slept in a very small room right above the cows' stable and directly under the roof. In winter it had been terribly cold there and Maria had often enough woken up with snow on her blanket. In the summer her room had been stifling and overheated. She'd actually thought her tiny room in the Abbey with the hard, small cot to be an improvement and her room at the von Trapp villa was utter luxury. She certainly wouldn't have minded sleeping on a cot now – if only Georg was with her!

She missed him. Sometimes, when working on a dress, her thoughts wandered back to Paris, her body remembering how his hands had felt, how much pleasure she'd received from his kisses and touches and how entirely wonderful it had been to return the gentleness, to hear him moan and whisper her name in abandon. She still knew so very well how his skin tasted, she remembered how she'd felt a rush of pride and joy every time when he'd embraced her and she'd noticed the proof of his excitement against her. He'd wanted her very much, obviously even more than he himself had expected. There had been one night when they'd gone out dancing after they'd spent the afternoon in bed, making love. As Georg had pulled her close during a waltz, she'd observed that he was aroused and, smiling up at him, she'd asked: "Again, Georg?"

He'd almost blushed and looked rather awkward. "I can't help it, Maria. You make me feel like a seventeen year old who can't control his hormones. It's embarrassing in a man of my age, isn't it?"

Maria had kissed his jaw. "I don't think so," she'd whispered. "I actually feel flattered."

What had happened to make him forget about that? Of course, they'd hardly ever been alone with each other since their honeymoon, but wasn't this separation supposed to make him long for her? It certainly made her long for him, so much so that it sometimes made her body ache. She was embarrassed at the intensity of her desire. When she'd thrown herself into his arms two weeks before, she'd wanted nothing more than for him to take her. She wouldn't even have minded making love to him on the kitchen table if only she would have gotten to feel him close again, moving deep within her.

Would something change between them when they moved in the new flat? They'd have a bedroom of their own there. They'd be alone together in the nights, able to talk, to kiss and …

Maria looked at her image, mirrored in the window of the subway. She'd lost a bit of weight during the last months. Her shoulders had become bony, but her breasts were still round and firm. In Paris Georg had loved them. He'd told her so, always giving them special attention. And there was this nice piece of lace she'd found in the retail shop only a few days before. She'd actually intended to use it on the dress she was tailoring for Liesl's graduation. However, for Liesl she could make a bow out of the flimsy piece she had left over from the wedding dress she'd made. She could wrap it over one shoulder and fix it at the back – it would look lovely on Liesl, probably even better than the lace.

Yes, she decided, she'd use the lace for a new nightgown. She'd buy some of the pale blue batiste she'd seen in the shop the other day – now, in November, it certainly wouldn't be too expansive. The lace over her breasts, the batiste underneath – it would look nice and it would be the right dress to wear for seducing one's husband. As soon as they were settled in the new flat, she'd use it for showing him that she still loved and desired him. It would work, wouldn't it? Somewhere behind the cold mask he'd put up in the last months her tender husband still existed, and he needed love and tenderness as much as she did. And she would get him to show it to her again.

* * *

"Watch your fingers,Friedrich!"

"Ouch!"

"Didn't I tell you? Working with a hammer obviously doesn't do any favours for a piano player's fingers! Just give the thing to me."

Maria was standing on a ladder in her new kitchen painting the wall above the stove. She smiled listening to her men folk's conversation in the room which was to become the younger girls' bedroom. Friedrich, Kurt and Georg were putting up shelves – and now it was obviously Georg who'd hit his thumb with the hammer. His "ouch" was accompanied by the laughter of his sons and Kurt's voice: "Hammers obviously don't approve of horse back riders either. Let me do it, Dad. You hold the board, I'll nail it …"

Kurt was speaking English as he often had in the last few weeks. He was obviously the one child in the family who most wanted to adapt to his surroundings while Brigitta was the one who spoke the most German. She was determined that they would "only be here until the Nazis are gone". Therefore she only spoke German at home and had even started to address Georg as "papa" – a typical German term. It was obvious that she didn't want to call him "Vater", the German word that sounded so like to the English "father".

Maria wondered how the Austrian patriot she was married to felt about Kurt mostly speaking English. She'd expected him to tell Kurt at least once that they were still Austrians but Georg hadn't said a word. He changed easily from talking German to English. Of course, when it came to languages Georg was a typical child of the former Danube monarchy. His father came from Vienna, but Georg's mother had been from Hungarian country nobility. So he'd learned German and Hungarian at home and, being born and having grown up in Zadar, (the port where his father, also an Imperial navy officer) was stationed, he'd learned Croatian from the servants. After his father's death – Georg had just been four years old then – his mother had married again and moved to France with her new husband and her son. So Georg had spent the next ten years in Marseille, before he'd enrolled at the Austrian-Hungarian Naval Academy in Fiume. There he'd learned Italian and later he'd added Chinese – he'd served in China during the Boxer Rebellion, earning his first commission there – and he'd learned English while on training with his submarine at the Whitehead shipyard. Compared to him and his abilities with languages Maria sometimes really felt like a country bumpkin, sometimes still struggling a bit just with English.

Now they had obviously gotten the shelf secured and Geog was praising his second son: "At least we've got one practical and handy genius in the family! Well done, Kurt – I'm impressed."

As always Kurt showed modesty. "I'm not the only one in the family who can do these things. Mother and Louisa are rather good with tools too."

"Your mother is good with almost everything," Georg replied and made Friedrich laugh.

"What would we do without mother?" he said, quoting one of the family's favourite sayings.

"Move less furniture?" Kurt chuckled. "But talking about that: Shall we get the girls' beds up now?"

"And all the boxes they've packed!" Friedrich moaned. "Could someone please explain to me how they managed to collect so much stuff in only a few months?"

"Oh, that – it's a special female talent!" Georg said.

"Girls are odd," Kurt stated. "Dad – do you think a man can ever understand how a girl's brain works?"

The sound of Georg's deep, rumbling laughter made Maria smile. "I actually don't believe so, son. However, trying can be fun – just ask Friedrich about that."

"What are you talking about, father?" Friedrich tried very hard to sound innocent.

"Your sudden interest in horses, son!" Georg came into the kitchen, speaking over his shoulder. "As much as I appreciate Siglavy Novella, I can't believe it was his charm you fell for."

"Oh, but Sigi is a great horse!" Friedrich said.

"Of course he is – he's been trained by me!" Georg grinned, showing the dimples that Maria loved so much. "Nevertheless I suppose it's actually a certain chestnut filly on two legs, going by the name of Julie, that has you spending so much more time in the stables these days." He turned to Maria. "What do you think about us moving the girls' beds in now?"

"Good idea. Shall I help you?" Maria smiled down from the ladder. She liked renovating and moving in their new flat and she was happy that Georg was in such a good mood. It was almost as if he'd looked forward to living in the new place as well.

"Father?" Friedrich had followed Georg. "Uncle Alois was telling the other day that he'll sell Sigi soon."

"Yes, we have a customer who's very interested in him and will pay handsomely," Georg answered.

"Father?" Friedrich was chewing on his bottom lip now. "Uncle Alois mentioned that you'd get a nice share of the money for Sigi because it was you who trained him."

"Yes, Friedrich, I'll get some of the money." Georg looked around. "We haven't got glasses here yet?"

"We have, but they're in the cabinet," Maria answered, pointing to the corner where the cabinets stood, protected from her paint under an old sheet which covered the table and the chairs in front of it as well. "But there's a cup in the sink."

"Civilization, here you go!" Georg took the cup and poured some water in it. Drinking, he turned to Friedrich again. "We'll need to save some of the money for Liesl's college, but I think the rest will be enough to buy two instruments."

"Two?" Friedrich asked.

"Yes, two – a used piano for you and a guitar for your mother. Besides I intend to buy a horse."

Maria's heart jumped a little when he mentioned the guitar. But now she looked puzzled. "A horse? Don't you think you've got already enough horses to work with, Georg."

"I've got an interesting offer," Georg explained. "A friend of Tipper Burrows has bought a four year old Irish hunter, a very talented jumper. Only he's rather hot-tempered and so the lady can't deal with him. He's already thrown her three times, now she's scared and wants to get rid off him. I could get him for only a little money. I think I'll be able to train him up nicely – and he's really a good horse. Properly educated he'll be worth some money – and there are a lot of people out there who want good jumpers."

"A jumper, Georg?" Maria thought of what Alois had told her about the black mare and how she'd thrown her husband. "But jumping is dangerous, isn't it?"

"Not when the horse is properly trained," Georg answered and patted Friedrich on his back. "Let's move the girls' stuff in, shall we?"

* * *

It was done, really and truly done. After a week in which Maria, Georg and the children had spent every free minute renovating and moving, they were finally settled in their new flat. Of course, there were still boxes to unpack and drapes to be hung, but every member of the family had a bed now and the kitchen was useable. After dinner they'd sat for the first time in their new living room; Georg, the boys and Louisa playing cards while Liesl and Maria had worked on Liesl's new dress and the younger girls had played with the dolls they'd received from the kind Mrs. Miller. Around half past eight Maria had gotten the younger children ready for bed and Georg had come in to say their prayers with them. Half an hour later, Friedrich, Louisa and Liesl had disappeared as well, Liesl announcing that she'd like to read for a while before sleeping.

Shortly afterwards Georg folded the newspaper he'd been reading. Yawning he announced: "It's time for me too."

"I'll come with you," Maria put the dress aside and rose up.

"Do you want to go into the bathroom first?" Georg politely asked.

"No, thank you. I need to switch off the lights and to lock the door. Besides I'd like to check on the children – you know, Gretl's always throwing off her blanket." Maria smiled at him, feeling a bit timid. The last days they'd always been drained in the nights and had fallen into bed like logs. This was the first time neither of them were exhausted. Pulling the blanket Gretl indeed had thrown off over her youngest's shoulder, Maria wondered – would Georg wait for her in bed? Or would he, as he'd done the nights before, already be sleep? Yesterday he'd been awake as she'd come out of the bathroom. He'd just taken a clean shirt out of the closet, hanging it over the chair so he wouldn't have to search for it the next morning. Crawling in bed, he'd then turned to her. "It's really amazing how much stuff we've already acquired. I feel as if I've moved an entire warehouse!" Smiling he'd asked: "And how are you?"

"Groggy, but happy. It's nice here, isn't it?"

"Yes," he'd replied simply and yawned. "Considering I'll have to present a horse at seven tomorrow – you know, the man who wants to buy Siglavy Novella is coming around – I should try to get some sleep." Bending over her, he'd kissed her cheek. "Good night, Maria – sweet dreams!"

Perhaps on this night she'd get even more than a kiss on the cheek? The thought made Maria wrap her arms around herself, feeling the familiar tingling in her breasts.

"I'm ready in the bathroom – you can go in!" Maria heard Georg announce.

"Thanks!" She'd already put her new nightgown on in the bathroom, now she was walking back in, undressed, and looked at herself in the mirror. She needed a hair cut and she was a bit pale, she found. But she was sure she'd blush when entering the bedroom in the lacy dress. Opening the closet, she took her toothbrush out. On the shelf above it stood Georg's shaving brush. Maria couldn't help touching it, noticing it was dry, and sighing. In Paris Georg had always shaved before going to bed.

Well, what had she expected? The little kiss the night before obviously hadn't been "foreplay". Maria started brushing her teeth, feeling slightly discouraged. Just this morning in the bakery women from the neighbourhood had complained about men "only ever wanting the one thing". As far as Georg was concerned, Maria certainly would never have that complaint. Her former sea captain had obviously trained himself well in suppressing the needs of his body during the long months he'd been on his ship without a woman in sight. And during the four lonely years as a widower – during their engagement he'd confessed to her about a little affair he'd had in Vienna once. "Only afterwards I felt even worse – fooling around that way isn't my cup of tea."

At that time Maria had been glad to hear it, but now she was wondering if a little less of self-discipline wouldn't make it easier for her to approach him.

Entering the bedroom was like déjà vu. Georg lay in bed on his back, his hands folded behind his head, looking at her. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Maria smiled shyly at him, kneeled down at her bedside, said her prayers and climbed in on her side of the bed, reaching for the blanket.

Clearing his throat, Georg started to speak. "By the way, Maria: I'll be away for three days next week. Tipper Burrows got a farm for her birthday and now she wants to start breeding lipizzans. So we'll go to Vermont – there's a Hungarian Count there who breeds them. He's got a few mares to sell."

Maria kept quiet, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt as if been punched in the stomach. During the last few weeks she'd tried not to think of the beautiful brunette who was – at least for Maria's taste – much too familiar with her husband. Of course, Maria had known that Tipper Burrows came almost daily to the stables – Friedrich and Louisa talked about her often enough. Just two days ago Brigitta had praised Georg as a "miracle worker" for helping her with a difficult translation. Louisa had sniggered: "Our father, the miracle worker – one day he'll even manage to teach Tipper Burrows to ride a proper traversale."

Friedrich had chuckled. "I think he'd already praise the lord if she'd manage a counter canter for once."

Georg had promptly scolded his children for bad mouthing a customer. "If I may remind you: Miss Burrows pays for your food."

Maria breathed deeply. Trying to keep her voice calm, she asked: "When will you go?"

"On Tuesday," Georg replied. "I hope we'll be back on Thursday night. I don't want to leave Alois alone for longer than that."

"Well," Maria still didn't look at him, "Alois certainly will miss you most." She couldn't help sounding sarcastic.

"What do you mean by that?" There was the angry, cold edge in his voice again. "If I may remind you: I'm not doing this trip for fun, but for business."

"Let's hope Miss Burrows knows that too." Maria grew more and more furious. She certainly didn't like the thought of the flirty brunette having Georg all to herself for three days.

"She does!" Georg almost shouted. "Maria, this silly jealousy isn't becoming to you!"

"I don't have a reason for it, do I?" Maria faced him now. "Except perhaps that Miss Burrows has a crush on you – or did I get that wrong? The way she ogles you, the way she uses every opportunity to touch you and to come close to you – I may be a bit naïve, Georg, but I'm not an idiot!" Now Maria was in full swing, her rage taking over. "Besides: I know you, my dear. I know how much you adore sophisticated, glamorous women like her."

"Do I?" He raised his eyebrow, smiling coldly. "Certainly. It's obvious I prefer sophisticated, glamorous women – that's why I married you, Maria!"

"Instead of Baroness von Schraeder? I can't help wondering if you're not regretting it now."

"What do you expect me to say to that?" he responded, his voice as icy as his eyes. "Are you sure you don't regret marrying me?"

How was it possible that he could drive her so entirely and utterly mad with only a few sentences? Maria felt once again like throttling him. She wanted to kick and scream and bang her fists against the next wall in helpless frustration and fury. She suddenly wanted to hurt him – hurt him as badly as he'd just hurt her and so she answered bitingly: "Honestly, in the last weeks I've wondered about that myself."

"You have?" He inhaled deeply. "Do you want a divorce, Maria?"

For a moment she felt like fainting. She'd known that her marriage was in trouble, but Georg even thinking of a divorce was nevertheless a shock. He couldn't really mean it, could he? They were joined in holy matrimony, they'd sworn "until death do us part" to each other. Did that promise mean so little to him? She didn't know how to answer, but heard herself whispering: "I'm still Catholic, Georg."

"Oh, that's a good reason to remain married to me!" he scoffed.

"Almost as good as not cheating on me simply because of your honour and dignity!" Maria shot back. "Living in a glass house one shouldn't throw stones, Georg!"

"Another piece of wisdom given to you by the wise Reverend Mother?" he asked sarcastically.

"Don't you dare mock the Reverend Mother!" Maria was really yelling now. "Oh, I really hate it when you're like this!"

"I know. You've told me before." He pushed his pillow in shape and switched the lamp on his night stand off. "I'll have to get up early tomorrow, Maria. Hence I'd really like to sleep now. Good night, Maria." He turned around, pulling the blanket up.

Maria starred at his back. Did he really intend to sleep now? Could he, after such an ugly argument? She was sure she wouldn't be able to – and she even didn't want to sleep next to him now. Slipping out of the bed, she grabbed her pillow and her blanket.

"What you're up to, Maria?" he asked without turning around.

"I'll sleep on the sofa!" she announced, fleeing the bedroom. Wrapping the blanket around her – the nightshirt she'd made with so much hope certainly wasn't warm enough for a night like this – she walked in to the living room and sank down on the sofa. She wondered why she didn't cry, but it seemed as if something in her was frozen. He'd asked her for a divorce! He'd more or less admitted that he regretted their marriage.

Perhaps he was in love with the brunette. Perhaps he was longing to be with her at this moment, to hold her in his arms, to whisper tender words in her ear, to make love to her.

No. Maria could barely think of it. She couldn't bear the thought of Tipper Burrows wrapping her arms around Georg, of Tipper enjoying what once had been hers. It only made her remember how happy and content she'd once been with him. Their last picnic on the Untersberg as he'd played hide and seek with the children, always pulling her into his hiding places with him and kissing her – he'd not even minded when Marta had caught them in an embrace, announcing loudly to her siblings: "Fräulein Maria and Father are kissing!" Instead he'd laughed, cheerful and openly, swept his daughter up and whirled her around, telling her: "Don't be jealous. You're still my most beloved Marta." Later then, the same afternoon, he'd fallen asleep with his head in Maria's lap and she'd looked down at him, tenderly playing with his hair, marvelling at how young and boyish his relaxed face looked in sleep. She'd dreamed of the baby then she wanted to have – a boy with his father's dark hair, his energetic chin, his fine sculpted mouth and blue eyes, or a girl who'd inherit the dimples on the cheeks and her father's elegance. And one day there would be grandchildren and Georg would play with them – he'd certainly look handsome at any age, even with white hair.

He didn't love her anymore. He would never again smile tenderly at her, he would never again sleep with his head in her lap, and he would never make love to her again. There wouldn't be a baby for her, not now, not in the future. Nevertheless she couldn't leave him. There were still the children who'd become her children, too; the children who depended on her and had already lost a mother. She loved them; she couldn't imagine a life without them anymore. And weren't the children what Georg really loved? He was obviously faithful in that love.

Oh, if only she could talk to someone about her troubles! What would she give for only a few minutes in the quiet study of the Reverend Mother, what would she give to hear her calm voice now. The Reverend Mother would know what to do, she would help Maria to find her way – and she would probably tell her to look for God's will.

God's will – for one thing Maria was sure: It had been the Lord who'd sent her to these children, to love them and to become a mother to them. And he wouldn't want her to leave them. Therefore she would stay with them, even if Georg didn't love her anymore.

To be continued

(1) "Schätzchen" – term of endearment in German, meaning something like "little darling"


	4. Chapter 4

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter**__**4: Merry Christmas indeed**_

New York, December 1938

"We praise Thee, O God!" The chorus rang through the church, filling it with its glory and touching Georg's heart. The voices were so familiar and yet so new and gripping. When had the children learned to sing like this?

"We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord." Yet another line like an artfully crafted, mighty marble pillar reverberated off the walls. It was almost unbelievable that there were only a dozen of people singing. They sounded like a big choir, full and loud, their voices mixing in perfect harmony.

Now the first part of the fugue, the altos starting: "All the earth doth worship Thee …"

Georg looked up to the altar where the singers were standing. At the left were Maria, Brigitta and Marta, the first sopranos. Next to them Louisa, Kurt, and Liesl's best friend Grace were singing the alto parts. Just in front of the altar stood Friedrich, tall and proud – his voice had finished changing and had developed into a nice tenor. His singing was supported by another tenor, an elderly man that Georg didn't know. He did recognize the red headed, freckled and lanky Father O'Donnell who was singing with a rich bass voice that seemed almost too big for his thin body. Mrs. Tennings, the short but rotund former opera singer who'd given the children voice lessons, looked funny next to him. She was leading the second sopranos with Liesl and Gretl singing with her, Gretl almost scowling with her forehead wrinkled in concentration. Actually the piece – Haendel's Dettingen Te Deum – was too much for her, but she'd begged so long until Maria and Mrs. Tennings had given in, studying the first and the last chorus with her.

Sitting in the first row of the church, watching his family sing, Georg felt oddly left out. Why hadn't he joined them? He'd looked at the sheet music – the bass part wasn't too deep, he could have easily have sung it. And he'd always liked baroque music.

On the other hand: The rehearsals with the choir had given Maria such a nice excuse to kick him out of their bedroom. The first morning after their argument Brigitta – still the one who always noticed everything – had asked at breakfast why Maria had slept on the couch. Maria had blushed and for a moment looked at Georg who'd almost feared she'd tell the children the truth: That he'd again been a total wretch, hurting her deeply. He knew how much she hated lies – but for the sake of the children she'd forced a smile and said: "I'm not used to your father's snoring anymore. Last night he really sounded like a very busy lumber mill."

Louisa had laughed. "He snores even worse than Conny. Last Saturday I came to the stable around noon. Conny was sleeping in his stall. First I thought it was him who was snoring so loudly, but then I discovered father was taking a nap on the sofa in the office with the door wide open. He was snoring even worse than his stallion."

They'd all laughed, even though Georg's laughter had been forced. Brigitta felt badly for the boys for enduring their father's nightly snoring for so long. Maria and Liesl just looked at each other. "By the way, Georg," Maria had started then, "you don't need to accompany the children to choir rehearsal tonight. I'll be there too because Liesl and I are both going to have voice lessons with Mrs. Tennants afterwards. It could get late then, so we thought …"

She trailed off and Liesl had quickly took over: "We thought you might like to sleep in my room tonight."

Maria spoke up once again. "I'm afraid I'll disturb you, coming back late. You'll probably be happier up there in Liesl's room."

It was obvious that Maria and Liesl had already arranged this, and he didn't like his wife and his eldest daughter conspiring against him. The thought of Maria talking with Liesl about their problems troubled him. In a way it almost felt as if Maria had betrayed him to Liesl, but he was in no position to berate her, especially not since he was going away with Tipper Burrow the next morning.

After he'd come back three days later he'd learned that Liesl had moved in with Maria. Of course, they'd said that Liesl would be happy to move back into her room, but Maria had made it quite clear that she didn't really want to have him in her bed. She was sweet but clear, saying "Perhaps you'd like to stay in the attic? I mean, with your insomnia and always trouble falling asleep - I'd so hate to disturb you once you've fallen asleep. And with all the hard work you're doing you need all the rest you can get, don't you?

Why on earth would he to fight his way into a bedroom where he wasn't wanted? His pride rebelled even at the thought of it and so it was settled: Georg slept in the single bed in the Liesl's small attic room while Maria and Liesl shared the double bed down in the master bedroom – and everyone in the family tried to pretend this arrangement was quite normal.

As much as he tried to pretend, Georg certainly didn't think it was normal. He felt desperate and lonely and spent many hours each night sitting on his windowsill, looking out into the dark street and musing about how he'd failed Maria so entirely.

He had begun to realize how much he had taken the happiness of his first marriage for granted. He'd never thought much about it before, but he did now and it had become clear to him that it hadn't been his doing. Agathe, with her indefinite patience, her serenity and her deep love for him, had made things so easy and peaceful for them. She'd gently calmed him down when he'd loose his temper, and even when he would try to start an argument with her, it was always her who'd approached him afterwards. Inevitably she'd overcome his pride and stubbornness with a simple smile, saying "You know, Georg, even that scowl can't keep me from loving you."

When he compared Agathe and Maria, though, Georg was always aware that despite all of their troubles, he was better off with Maria now. He'd loved Agathe deeply, but he knew that she wouldn't have made it through the hardship of their escape and the life they lived now. The daughter of the wealthy John Whitehead had been used to luxury all of her life. She had never even boiled an egg for herself and wouldn't have known how to feed a family of nine with only a few dollars a week. In circumstances like these Maria was an asset while Agathe would probably have been a burden.

However, the admirable strength Maria was showing didn't come without its drawbacks. It undoubtedly came from the same place as the outstanding stubbornness with which she was resisting him, managing to speak with him as little as possible, and keeping away from any closer physical contact with him. Of course, she never neglected her duties in looking after him. She washed and ironed his clothes, had always dinner warming in the oven when he came home and she even put a hot water bottle in his bed after a long day in the stable. And last time that he'd come home to their flat limping and with a nasty bump on his hip (the jumper was still not really controllable and had thrown him over a hurdle) she'd even tended to him, entering his bedroom after she had tucked the younger children into bed, with a jar in her hand, tugging at his blanket. "Trousers down and roll over please, Georg. I'm sure you've got a bruise and it needs to be looked after."

He'd turned onto his stomach and had promptly gotten scolded: "Georg – I can't look at your hip this way. Just turn onto your side." And rather impatiently she'd added: "There's nothing there I haven't seen before."

He'd almost been glad that his hip and back were hurting so badly. Otherwise her hand on his hip would certainly have caused an embarrassing physical reaction on his part. He was sure that an erection wouldn't have sat well with Maria. She'd made it quite clear that she wasn't interested in him as a husband anymore. She treated him like one of the boys – except that Kurt and Friedrich got hugged and kissed while Maria never touched him if she could possibly avoid it.

At least their financial situation had improved. Just after he'd come back from Vermont with Miss Burrows, having bought four mares for her and earning a nice provision in the process, Alois had offered him full partnership. Since then he'd bought, trained and sold four horses which had gotten him – for the first time since they'd come to America – a few extra dollars in their bank account. With the business going so well, they'd probably even able to buy a house in two or three years. It was amazing how many people, despite the big depression, were still able to afford to keep horses and wanted him to train them.

He'd like to have a house of his own again, preferably a bit away from the city. During his time in Vermont with Tipper Burrows he had enjoyed being in the country again. He realized how much he missed clear air, the sight of forests and hills and the silence at night. Riding through meadows, surrounded only by the sounds of birds and the wind in the trees had been a real treat. On the other hand, dealing with Tipper had made the trip tiresome. Georg was experienced enough to notice when a woman was pursuing him, but he'd thought that meeting Maria and two of his children had made it clear enough to Tipper that he wasn't available. But as soon as he arrived at the hotel Tipper had booked for them he realized how wrong he was. She'd gotten a suite with two bedrooms. The suite locked from the hall, but he was unable to lock his bedroom. This was an arrangement that Georg definitely did not like but was unable to change. Therefore he'd energetically closed his door after moving in his room, hoping Tipper would respect his privacy. She'd refused to. He'd hardly gotten in bed when she'd appeared at his threshold, wearing only a flimsy, see through nightdress. Even the term nightdress was generous. She was practically wearing nothing.

Georg had just shaken his head. "Tipper, I'm afraid you've just opened the wrong door."

She'd come over to the bed, standing in front of him. "Why are you trying so hard to refuse what's between us, Georg?"

"Because there's nothing between us that involves you being in my bedroom!" he'd replied firmly.

"I don't believe you, Georg. The way you're looking at me …" She'd sat down on the side of his bed. . "Why don't you admit it? You want me as much as I want you, and I want you, and I want you. I fell in love with you the moment I laid eyes on you."

This was as uncomfortable a situation as he'd ever been in. Here was a woman, wearing practically nothing, professing her love for him, and it was not his wife. He'd wanted to escort her out of his room and leave her in no doubt as to his true feelings for her, but she was also one of his most valuable clients and he couldn't afford to alienate her. "I'm flattered, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm not only a married man, but the father of seven children," Georg finally told her.

"You didn't say you're happily married!" Tipper had replied, trying to slowly seduce him by stroking his arm which he'd immediately pulled away. "Besides your little wife isn't the mother of your children, is she? She said so herself."

Georg sat up, distancing himself from her as much as possible and crossed his arms over his chest. "Tipper, Maria certainly isn't my 'little' wife. She is my wife. And she is the mother of my children, even if she didn't give birth to them. They love her as their mother and she loves them back and that's all there is to say about that."

"No, I don't think so," she persisted. Tipper Burrows was used to getting what she wanted and she definitely wanted Georg. "You're always talking about the children and your wife as the mother of them. But you don't talk about your feelings for her."

"My feelings are between Maria and me", he'd only said.

"Do you love her?"

"Yes," Georg had answered honestly. "I love my wife, Tipper – but even if I didn't, I'd never cheat on her. Maria was brave enough to marry a widower with seven children and she was brave enough to leave her homeland, fleeing over the mountains with the children and me on foot. She was brave enough to build a life for us here without complaining even once about the hardship I've put her through. Even if I didn't love her as much as I do, I wouldn't deny her the respect and loyalty she deserves. She's my wife. I may have lost a lot in the last year, but I'm certainly not going to lose my values too. Therefore I'd be very grateful if you'd go back to your room now."

Tipper had left, but the next weeks with her had been difficult. She wasn't a woman to give up easily. As a spoiled American princess, Georg's love was probably the first thing in her life that she hadn't been able to get (except the ability to ride a proper counter canter as Louisa certainly would have added). Tipper fought hard for him before she'd finally understood that nothing she did, not even flirting with another admirer in the stable every day, would convince Georg to change his mind.

In the end it had been one of those admirers who'd finally gotten her away from Georg. Timothy Jenkins, a very nice and handsome young man, was completely infatuated with her. He was also rich and a talented rider. It seemed like a perfect match but he was making the mistake of being all too available for Tipper, following her around like a love sick puppy.

Georg had watched it and, knowing a bit more about women and their ways than this boy, he'd decided to help Timothy out. So one evening four weeks before he was sitting in the church listening to his family sing, Georg and Alois had invited Timothy to Alois' flat above the stable where they'd filled the young man with scotch and advice: how to not be so available, how to turn the occasional cold shoulder, and even to flirt with another girl, preferably a very pretty one. "You need to earn her respect – and you won't get it by hanging onto her skirt and letting yourself get pushed around. Show her that there are other girls who appreciate you. You'll see. She'll notice it and begin to realize her feelings for you!" Alois had explained.

"But I don't know any pretty girls except for Tipper!" Timothy, already a bit drunk, had almost whined. "And there isn't one who'd be interested in me – and even if there were one, how could I be so callous as to use her only to make Tipper jealous?"

"Oh lad, you mustn't get one who's in love you. It's enough if she's willing to pretend! Don't you have a friend with a nice sister who'd help you out?" Alois had asked.

"Actually the only friend's sister I know is rather ugly and has got teeth like a horse. Tipper would never ever believe I've fallen for her!"

"Well, in that case Georg's got to help you out," Alois had stated with a grin. "He's got a very lovely seventeen year old daughter." He'd rubbed his hands together. "Georg, bring Liesl along!"

"I'll have to ask her if she's willing," Georg had answered. He wasn't too sure of Liesl's opinion of him these days – not with her being so close to Maria. And he certainly wasn't going to make a promise on behalf of his daughter without getting her consent first.

"Just tell her that it will help to get Tipper out of your hair!" Alois had chuckled. "Or don't tell her – Louisa will do that for you. You know how much she dislikes Tipper always swooning over you." Pouring himself another scotch, he'd leant back. "You know what? The longer I think about it, the more I like the idea. It will serve two purposes: Tipper will become jealous that Timothy's with another girl and – well, Georg, nothing makes a man look old than an almost adult daughter who isn't a Daddy's girl anymore, but is flirting with a young man."

"I hope you don't want me to throw myself into the dirt just to make Timothy look better in comparison!" Georg had laughed.

"I'd actually appreciate it if you'd stay on your horse's back, Georg," Alois had replied with a grin. "You know, your falls always look heroic to our female customers, but they're really bad for my nerves. Last time that you went over a hurdle without taking your horse with you, Maria was already asking me why it was e always you who had to ride those beasts. Your Maria is a force to reckon with – and the next time you come home limping and can't fulfil your husbandly duties because of a bruised hip or broken rips, she'll probably want my head!"

Uncomfortable talking about Maria, Georg had quickly changed the subject back to Tipper. The next evening he'd asked Liesl if she would help a nice young man out of some romantic troubles. She'd agreed, and so the next Saturday she'd come to the stable wearing a very pretty blue dress Maria had sewn for her.

As he introduced her to Timothy, Georg almost feared their plan would backfire. Tim looked at Liesl as if he'd just discovered that there were even prettier girls than the one he was in love with – and Georg could understood that. Liesl had grown into an exceptionally beautiful girl. Though he knew he may be biased as a father, he personally thought she was much lovelier than Tipper. His daughter had also obviously developed talent as an actress. Sitting in the stands while Timothy had ridden Conversano Theokratia – prepared earlier by Georg and therefore at his best – Liesl had watched Tim with eyes as big as saucers and the sweet smile of a girl who'd just found her knight in shinning armour. Tipper, who had just arrived, looked at Liesl in great irritation. In response Liesl had, her voice as sweet as honey, told Timothy then that he'd ridden wonderfully. Tipper had just scowled.

Yet the best part had come after Timothy's lesson. He'd asked Georg – who'd just mounted Tipper's black mare - by now nicely trained and under control - if he'd mind "if I let my girl sit on Conversano Theokratia for a moment". And Liesl, the same Liesl who'd ridden horses in her father's lap since she was still in diapers, had acted like a shy maiden, afraid of such a "big beast" as Conversano Theokratia. Conny was actually rather small, as many lippizan stallions were, and so Georg had to stifle his laugh as Timothy had lifted Liesl up and she'd cried: "Oh, it's so high up here! But you'll look after me, Tim, won't you?"

Of course, Louisa, walking a young mare, hadn't been able to resist adding to the performance. Passing the stallion led by Timothy, she'd used the moment where she was hidden by Conversano Theokratia, to touch his hind legs with her whip. Well-trained as the white stallion was, he'd immediately started a piaffe with Liesl faking fear and Timothy reaching up and holding her. In exchange, Timothy received a melting smile and an "Oh, you are so brave! I'd die if I had to sit on a horse all on my own!"

Louisa had enjoyed herself too the fullest. Getting her horse next to Georg, she'd whispered: "If looks could kill, poor Liesl would drop dead now. Tipper's fuming!"

"Well, then it's time for my big scene, don't you think?" Georg had turned his horse and started to canter, but he stopped after only two rounds, reached for his back and whined: "Ouch!"

Alois, watching at the door, then did his part: "What's the matter, Georg? Are you in pain?" He'd walked into the indoor arena where they were riding. "Shall I take over?"

"Yes, please!" Georg had moaned and slowly dismounted his horse, standing in the hall with one hand in his back and looking as miserable as he could manage.

Liesl had almost betrayed herself by how easily she jumped down from Conversano Theokratia and ran over to Georg. "Poor father! Is it your rheumatism again?" Stroking his back, she'd scolded him: "You know it's your fault. It's only this bad because you're too vain to wear the nice woollen vests mother keeps knitting for you!"

As she'd lead him to the bench in front of the door, holding his arm and looking like the perfect loving, worried daughter Georg hadn't been able to keep his grin back any longer. "Is it possible you've read too much Jane Austen lately?" he'd whispered.

"Yes, Captain!" his daughter had answered cheerfully. "And you have to admit: Rheumatism and woollen vests don't add to a man's appeal – at least not with young woman." Raising her voice so that Tipper could hear her, she'd added: "Let me take you home, Daddy. Mother will tend to your back then with a salve and then she'll get you a nice hot water bottle. You'll be up and about in no time!"

It had worked – Tipper had only briefly asked Georg how he was feeling before she walked over to Timothy and began to talk to him. Since then the both had become inseparable and now Georg was expecting them to announce their engagement soon. As an even bigger plus, the performance had gotten Georg something he liked even more: A real smile from Maria. Coming home with two still giggling daughters in tow, they'd of course told Maria all about the show they'd put on. "And you should have seen father! He was perfect!" Louisa had cried in delight.

"For a moment I really was afraid he'd hurt his back," Liesl had taken over. "He looked perfectly miserable as he stood there in the hall."

Maria had turned to him, amused. "I didn't know you're so devious, Georg."

"I'm a man with hidden talents. Besides, the rheumatism part of our little act was inspired by a certain governess who'd once gotten a bad case of it by sitting on a pine cone." At that moment he remembered that he'd once told her that he'd fallen in love with her then – and she'd obviously thought of that too, for a few seconds smiling at him as she'd done in better times. It had made for a tiny moment of happiness, immediately followed by the heartache and misery he was now already used to.

* * *

The Te Deum was almost now almost done. The orchestra started the introduction for the last movement and Georg saw Kurt straightening his shoulders and breathing deeply before he started to sing his solo: "Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day …" His clear, strong alto was filling the church and Georg felt a cold shudder running down his back. The boy singing there – that wasn't chubby, always hungry and insecure Kurt anymore. There was confidence in his singing that he probably even wasn't aware of. It was the natural security of a born musician. Recognizing it Georg was once again overwhelmed with pride and love. He knew he wasn't a bad musician himself and Agathe's talent as a singer – she'd possessed an amazingly strong alto for a person as petite as her – would probably even have been enough for a career as a professional. Nevertheless Georg sometimes found it almost unbelievable how gifted the children were. Looking once again at them he swallowed – what had he done to deserve such talented and healthy children, each one as pretty as the other? Liesl was a real beauty, Louisa was growing into one, Friedrich and Kurt would become handsome men one day. Every day Brigitta became more and more like her lovely mother, and the little ones were cute and would undoubtedly become as beautiful as their sisters.

And then there was Maria – the candles on the altar made her hair look like spun gold and her blue eyes were beaming. She wore a simple but elegant black dress with a broad, blue sash which made her waist look so small it seemed almost fragile. How could she have thought that he could fall for a woman like Tipper? Of course, Tipper was nice to look at but was nothing compared to the natural beauty and grace of Maria.

Maria – Georg suddenly remembered how they'd danced together for the first time on the terrace in Aigen. First he'd come to adore her neck. Until then he'd never thought short hair on a woman very appealing, but with Maria it showed her long, graceful neck with the soft skin which lured him to kiss it. As she'd whirled around him, her wide skirt coming up, he'd discovered that his children's governess had one of the nicest set of legs he'd ever seen – and yes, he was a man and he'd always liked long legs on a woman. Looking in her eyes had been his undoing in the end. The vulnerability she'd suddenly shown, the confusion and – yes, there had been already love and gentleness too. He'd fallen for her, fallen hard – and even now, despite of all their troubles and arguments, he still loved her and wanted her back.

Reaching for the little box in his pocket, he wondered when he should give it to her. It was only a chain with a pedant of a little silver edelweiss. It was nothing compared to the jewellery he'd bought for her in Paris which she'd sold for the furniture in their first flat. Ever since then Georg had wanted to give her something back. The edelweiss, found in a shop of a friend of Alois, was at least a start. It was a reminder of the first time he'd sung for her and even more a reminder of the night at the festival. It had been Maria's idea for him to sing a solo there and to specifically singing "Edelweiss" as his personal farewell to his homeland and its people. He was also glad of the opportunity to remind them they were still Austrians. As they'd talked about in the car on their way to Salzburg he'd been convinced that he would be able to pull it off. However, standing on the stage, surrounded by darkness but knowing that the Nazis watched his every move, the extremity of their situation and the sadness about leaving his homeland had overwhelmed him and his voice had failed him. For a moment he'd been afraid of tears, of embarrassing himself in front of two thousand people and his old arch-enemy, the now Gauleiter Zeller who certainly would have enjoyed nothing more than watching Georg von Trapp breaking down before thousands of people.

Maria had been his saviour. Suddenly he'd heard her voice, as strong and clear as a bell. She'd taken over and, joining him on the stage, slid her hand through the crook of his arm. He'd taken it in relief and she'd waved to the children to join them. Surrounded by his family, he'd known that they would make it through whatever might come next.

The choir was finished now and the woman sitting next to Georg was tugging at his sleeve. "That's your family, isn't it?" she asked.

He only nodded, still watching Maria who was just gathering the children, tenderly mussing Kurt's hair.

"They're wonderful and sing like angels!" the woman whispered. "You must be so proud of them!"

Now he was smiling at her. "I am!" he assured her.

"I've heard this is your first Christmas in America?"

"Yes, we just arrived here a few months ago," Georg answered.

"Then I hope New York treats you well! Merry Christmas, Mr. von Trapp!"

"Thank you very much!" His smile was genuine and filled with gratitude. The kind woman had just reminded him that the new world had really treated them well, giving them shelter, food, music and – what was probably the most important thing – peace and safety.

* * *

"Father?" On their way back from church Marta slipped her small hand in Georg's large one and looked up at him. "Kurt says we're Americans now and therefore we'll celebrate Christmas the American way. Is that true?"

Georg smiled over at Maria who had Gretl's hand in hers and Liesl walking at her other side. "As far as I know, your mother received a turkey from one of her customers and it's in the oven right now. A turkey for Christmas dinner seems rather American to me, so I suppose Kurt is right – we're celebrating our first Christmas in America the American way."

"But," Marta's dark eyes were filling with tears, "that means we'll have to wait for our gifts until tomorrow! All the children at school were telling me they get their presents on Christmas morning – but I want to get mine on Christmas Eve like always!"

Georg couldn't help teasing her a bit. "Are you sure you'll receive a gift, Marta?" he asked.

"Georg!" Maria promptly scolded him, stepping up and putting her hand on Marta's shoulder. "Sometimes your father is impossible! Of course you'll get a gift – and you'll get it tonight if you like. You've been a good girl, you deserve it – and I promise you, you'll like it!"

She smiled at Georg and he smiled back, thinking how much he'd enjoyed the shopping tour he'd done with Maria only one week ago. He'd taken the morning off and they'd gone to one of the big warehouses. Of course, the amount of money they could spend on presents had been much smaller than in the years before, but they'd nevertheless been able to get something for every child: A leather map with her initials on it for Liesl; sheet music for Friedrich: the Tchaikovsky concerto he loved so much and some Chopin. For Louisa, Maria had sewn some new breeches and she would also get a new fountain pen with her name on it. Kurt had wished for a baseball bat and would get it. Brigitta had been easy because she always wanted more books, and for Gretl who'd cried over leaving her teddy bear in Austria, it had been a new bear.

Only Marta's gift had been a problem. In Paris they'd bought her the pink parasol she'd longed for so much, but they couldn't take it with them on their escape. For weeks Marta hadn't talked about it and her parents had hoped and believed she'd have forgotten about it, but then, just two weeks ago on their way back from school where he'd picked her up, Marta had suddenly stopped, looking with big, scared eyes at a newspaper in a kiosk. It had shown a photograph of Hitler on its front page. He was standing in front of a flag with the swastika. Shifting closer to Georg, Marta had reached for his hand and then, her voice not more than a whisper, she'd asked him: "Father, Kurt says the bad men are now living in our house. Do you think they've got my pink parasol?"

Georg had picked her up and held her close to him. "No, Marta, I don't think so. You know your pink parasol wouldn't go well with their ugly uniforms."

Back at home he'd told Maria that they would have to look for another pink parasol as a Christmas present for Marta, but this task had been a rather difficult one. None of the shops they'd visited had a pink parasol to sell and in the end Maria had decided to buy a cheap and rather ugly grey one and to change it by sewing some pink fabric over it. It had cost her another three nights of hard work, but with Liesl's help she'd managed and just the other night she'd put the pink parasol in the closet of Georg's room where they'd hidden all the gifts for the children.

* * *

"Dinner was lovely, really!" Georg said as he stood up and put his plate in the sink.

Friedrich had already filled it with hot water – in the von Trapp family washing up after dinner was now declared "men's work" – and Georg was reaching for a towel. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Maria was almost smirking. She knew how particular he was about food and she also knew that the turkey had been tough and dry, while he Salzburger Nockerl – Liesl's first attempt at her father's favourite dessert – hadn't survived how often Kurt had opened the oven to check on it. Instead of the fluffy soufflés Salzburger Nockerl were supposed to be, they'd become something more like a thick, sweet omelette.

Maria hadn't minded much. She'd been used to simple food all of her life and now she was obviously amused by her husband's attempt at lying. Taking the glass he'd just dried out of his hands and putting it back into the cupboard, she whispered: "What have you done to Captain von Trapp – the man who once ran through three cooks in a month because none of them could make his two boiled eggs in a glass for breakfast to his satisfaction?"

Georg grinned at her. "Didn't you know he gave up on civilization when he arrived here? Just you wait, Maria – for summer I'll get myself a few of those lovely, grey undershirts and then I'll spend my evenings sitting on the balcony in one of them, drinking beer directly out of the bottle and belching a duet with Mr. Porters from opposite the street."

Maria laughed out loud. "I'm afraid you still haven't gotten it right, Baron!" she told him. "You're still too much of an aristocrat. It's not a few shirts, but only one – and to get it as sweaty and dirty as it needs to be you mustn't change it for a week, not even at night. And you can't shower every evening. It would spoil the smell, you know?"

"Ugh!" Louisa was back in the kitchen and had heard the exchange. "How ghastly!"

"Well," Friedrich looked sceptically at the pan he'd just washed and put it back in the water, "perhaps father stinking a bit would keep the women in the stable who always swoon over him at bay?"

"Is it still so bad?" Maria asked.

"It's become worse!" Louisa made a grimace. "In the last two weeks he gotten two new pupils – ladies, of course. One is at least around fifty, has already run through three or four husbands and she's obviously looking for a new one. She told me just the other day how hard it will be me for me to find myself a husband since I have – and I quote! – such 'a dashing, devilish handsome father' to compare boys with. The other …"

"Louisa, that's enough," Georg interrupted his daughter. The female attention he got at his job didn't flatter him at all but made him feel rather uncomfortable. He knew only too well that his appearance, his manners and his title were as much part of his success as his horsemanship. However, that didn't mean that he liked it. Sometimes the way his rich female customers treated him made him feel like a gigolo – and this certainly didn't sit too well with him.

Louisa scowled and as always it was Maria who smoothed it over. "It's Christmas, Louisa," she reminded the girl. "That means no work talk!"

"Except about cleaning the dishes!" Kurt moaned. "You know, the Americans always talk about people going from dish washer to millionaire. Considering how many dishes I've done in the last months I should have gotten a big fortune by now!"

"And what would you do with so much money?" Friedrich grinned. "Hire someone to do our dish washing?"

"Perhaps I should apply for the job," Georg said. "I'd like to become a millionaire here."

"Let me guess: You'd buy paper dishes and cups then so we can throw them away after eating?" Maria asked.

"No. I'd like to build a bathroom all for myself," Georg answered and gave Friedrich, who was standing next to him, a playful shove. "It would get me a chance to go in without always stumbling over Friedrich's slippers. And even better: I wouldn't be in danger anymore of cutting my throat shaving because my second son, always being late, bumps into me when I'm at it. You know, Kurt, one day you'll really kill me with that!"

"Oh my – mother would be really furious then," Friedrich chuckled. "All the bloodstains in the bathroom!"

"And just imagine all the fuss we would have with a body in the bathroom!" Kurt laughed. "It would be a real bother, wouldn't it?"

Georg looked at Maria who had just finished clearing the table and was now smiling at him. "Isn't it great to learn how much my sons care about me and my welfare? It just gets me in the Christmas spirit! Peace on earth and goodwill to men!"

"Talking about Christmas spirit", Maria said, "Gretl and Marta are already sitting in the living room since we're done with dinner. I believe we should go and light the candles on the tree for them, don't you think, Georg?"

* * *

Lying back on his pillow Georg folded his hands behind head and sighed. Christmas Eve – actually he'd feared it because he'd worried the children would be overwhelmed by homesickness. But it had been lovely. The children had adored the tree Maria and Liesl had decorated and they'd loved their presents. However, they had been almost more excited about the gifts they were giving than receiving – especially Marta and Gretl. With Maria's help they'd knitted a scarf for him or, to be precise: Gretl had chosen the wool – "blue like your eyes, father" she'd explained very seriously – and Marta had done the knitting with, as Maria had whispered into his ear, Liesl adding a few rows every night secretly. In the end Gretl had made the fringe. She and her sister were very proud on their work.

Georg adored it and had told the children so. He really needed a warm scarf since he was working his horses outdoors a lot. He'd praised his youngest daughters for giving him something so lovely and practical.

The older girls had done teamwork in knitting too: They'd made him a thick, blue woollen sweater. Liesl, who'd always been rather good at knitting, had done the front part with the rather elaborate braids while Lousa had knitted the simpler back part. The sleeves had been made by Brigitta and much to her dismay the left one was a bit tighter than the right one.

Georg didn't mind. He'd immediately slipped out of his jacket and into his new sweater, assuring the girls how much he loved it and how much he looked forward to wearing it when out riding. "It will probably keep me so warm enough I won't suffer from rheumatism anymore!" he'd joked while he'd finally opened the gaily wrapped packet the boys had given him. It had contained a new shaving kit – razor blade, a very nice shaving brush and a mug with lavender scented shaving soap. Thanking his sons he'd learned that the idea for the shaving kit had been Kurt's.

"You were always cursing about the blade you bought in Switzerland," he'd explained to his father, and then he'd chuckled. "Friedrich liked my idea – he probably thinks he will need to shave soon too."

"I'm growing some beard already!" Friedrich had announced, pointing to a hardly noticeable shadow on his chin.

Georg had scrutinized it and, pulling his son's head to his shoulder, he'd said: "I think we'll have still some time left before I need to give you the father-son talk about shaving. Besides you're lucky – you're blond. Your beard won't be as visible as mine. As mine started to grow, I was always in trouble with my instructor at the Naval Academy. Sometimes he made me shave three times a day because he thought even the tiniest shadow of a beard was highly inappropriate for a cadet as young as I was then."

"I'm glad you don't intend on sending me to a naval academy!" Friedrich had answered. "I don't think I'd like it there."

"I didn't like it either; therefore I won't send you there." Georg had ruffled Friedrich's hair. He'd actually hated the Austrian Hungarian Naval Academy in Fiume where he – a lonely and homesick fifteen year old – had been driven to, pretending that he was already a man. Only his pride and stubbornness had gotten him through it, but that time probably had forced him to suppress his feelings so much that it was making it so difficult to show his feelings to his wife now.

Maria – he hadn't given her the edelweiss directly, but only put the little box, labelled with her name, on the pile of presents she'd gotten from the children – after she'd opened them and praised and thanked the givers. Surrounded by the excited children it had actually been easier than he'd hoped to avoid close contact with her. She'd made it quite clear to him in the last weeks that she didn't want to touch him and he certainly would never force her. So he'd actually been a bit surprised when she, after hugging all of the children and wishing them a Merry Christmas, had tugged at his sleeve, looked up at him and given him a peck on the cheek. "Merry Christmas to you too, Georg."

He could still feel where her lips had touched him and putting his hand there, he sighed once again. Why was he so drained and depressed? The children were happy and dealing much better with losing their home than he'd ever have thought possible. And Maria, much more adaptable than he, had found friends – he'd watched in awe at how many people she'd spoken to and even hugged after church. And she'd obviously come to terms with the fact that their marriage was failing. In a way she'd simply gone back to the life she'd lived before their engagement: She looked after the children, was polite and kind to their father and lived in all other respects like a nun. She probably didn't even miss intimacy. It was likely that the four weeks of honeymoon they'd shared hadn't been enough to get her used to a husband's affection. To think that the passion she'd shown him was something that he'd awakened in her – that probably had been pure and silly vanity. Maria had been twenty two years old when they'd married and despite the fact that she was still a virgin, she'd probably already known that she was able to be very passionate. Yet in wanting to become a nun, she'd certainly learned to suppress that part of herself.

In time he would learn to stop longing for it. The time in Paris had been a dream – but now he was awake and the fairy tale was over. As Maria had said: It was time that he faced reality too, as miserable as it seemed to him without her love.

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

**Amor vincit omnia **

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter**__**5: The ghost of Christmas past**_

New York, December 1938

"Wasn't it a beautiful night, mother?" Liesl sighed happily and pushed her pillows in shape before leaning back. "Only my Nockerl didn't work. I will have to practice making them."

"Oh, I think they were pretty good," Maria, sitting on her bedside, turned around and smiled at her oldest who'd become so close to her. "Even your father said so. And you know how he is with food."

Liesl made a face. "Only when professionals are doing the cooking." She chuckled. "When I was around six or seven years old the cook fell sick on a weekend when Frau Schmidt was off. So mother decided to try cooking herself. She wanted us to try something typically English: Lamb in mint sauce with potatoes and peas. The only problem was that she didn't know how long the lamb needed to cook and that the mint sauce looked too thin at first. In the end we got overcooked lamb with burnt peas, potatoes which were falling apart and a kind of mint paste that smelled like mint tea and tasted very odd."

"And how did your father survive this meal?" Maria grinned.

Now Liesl was laughing. "He munched it down like he was defying death itself, worthy of a naval hero like him. He even praised it and kicked Uncle Max' shins under the table to make him take a second helping too."

"Poor Uncle Max!" Maria looked down at her hand in her lap. In her palm lay the chain with the edelweiss. She'd found the box while cleaning up the living room before going to bed and it had moved her to tears. The silver flower held so many memories – the night when he'd sung "Edelweiss" for the children while she'd leant at the wall, watching him; the night in the Felsenreitschule during the concert, when he'd stood on the stage, his voice failing him and her heart breaking just looking at him. The way he'd looked in her eyes as she'd taken over and walked up to him, slipping her hand in the crook of his arm – she'd thought that she couldn't love him any more than she did in that moment.

He'd given her an edelweiss. Where had he gotten it in New York? And why hadn't he given it directly to her? She would probably never understand him, but that didn't change the fact that she loved him, loved him deeply and passionately and missed him dreadfully.

Closing her hand around the edelweiss, she reached for her dressing gown and smiled at Liesl. Trying to sound as casual as possible she said: "I've forgotten to give your father any water. He often gets thirsty during the night, so I should run up to him and bring him fresh water."

Liesl was immediately sitting up. "Shall I go? You were on your feet all day, mother."

"So were you, sweetheart." Maria walked around the bed, bent down and kissed Liesl's cheek. "Sleep well, my darling daughter!"

"The same to you, mother!" Liesl slipped back under her blanket.

Closing the door quietly behind her – she didn't want to wake the other children – Maria breathed deeply. She'd lied about the water. Georg always took care of it himself. But with things between them as strained as they were, she hadn't known how to tell Liesl that she was going up to talk to Georg.

Liesl and Maria, despite being so close, had never really spoken about the true reason for their odd sleeping arrangements. Only once Liesl had asked, her voice filled with anxiety: "Are you still in love with father, mother?"

Maria had answered with a firm "I am and always will be" and that had been that. Maria knew that Liesl adored her father and he also loved her. To put this girl in a situation where she would feel as if she'd need to choose between her parents would have been so unfair to her. Liesl had so much to deal with – Maria knew that she'd still not gotten over the fact that the boy who'd been her first love had also threatened to kill her father.

Maria sighed once again, opened her hand and touched the little edelweiss. She'd given Georg two new flannel shirts for Christmas and now felt badly about it. Of course, she'd sewn them herself and he really needed warm shirts, but compared to the edelweiss they looked like a rather thoughtless, heartless gift.

Slowly she climbed up the stairs. He wouldn't be asleep already, would he? She certainly didn't want to disturb him and so she stopped in front of his door, listening in the dark. Somewhere in the neighbourhood a wireless was playing "Jingle Bells" and she could hear excited voices and laughter. Yet behind the door she couldn't hear a sound and so, inhaling deeply, she turned the door knob and reluctantly entered the small, dark room. "Georg?" she whispered.

She was immediately engulfed with his smell - a smell that she liked so much. She'd come to associate a unique mixture of leather, horse and lavender with him. And then, to her relief, there was his voice, drained and weary: "Are you the ghost of Christmas past?"

"I don't think you need a visit from him," Maria answered, pulling her gown closer around her. As always, his window was open and it was cold in his room.

She heard his bed clothes rustle and then the little lamp on his night stand was switched on. Maria blinked, looked at Georg and felt her heart start to beat even faster. He was lying on his back, one hand behind his head, and the other still resting on his lamp. The sight of him reminded her on their first night in Paris and she looked down at her bare feet, suddenly fighting back tears. She'd been so nervous that she'd forgotten to put her slippers on. She almost expected him to scold her for that, but he didn't say a word. Closing her fingers around the edelweiss, she cleared her throat. "I wanted to thank you, Georg." Opening her hand, she let the little flower dangle and wrapped the chain around her fingers. "I only just found it – it's very lovely."

"I'm glad you like it." His face was blank, not betraying any emotions.

"I do, very much." She took a deep breath. Why was it so difficult to talk to him? Why did it feel as if he were miles away when she was standing so close to him? Would it always be like that now? Maria couldn't bear the thought. A little voice in her told her she should leave him now and let him have his peace and solitude. But she couldn't! She couldn't leave like this, she couldn't go down to her lonely bed now. Looking at his bedside, she shyly asked: "May I?"

"Of course." He pointed to the bed's end. "Sit down there and put your feet under the blanket. You're going to catch a cold, standing there on your bare feet." He sounded as if he were talking to one of the children.

Cautiously Maria sat down, pulled her legs up and stuck her feet under the blanket, touching Georg's leg. He immediately moved them away, but grinned. "And here I thought Gretl's cold feet were bad!"

"I'm sorry." Maria fought against the tears. She'd wanted to share a bed with her husband, but she certainly hadn't wanted to sit so cramped on the one end while he carefully kept away by lying on the other. However, there was still the edelweiss, warm from being held in her palm all this time, and its small form gave her comfort. Looking fondly at it, Maria asked: "Where did you find an edelweiss in New York?"

"A friend of Alois – a Jewish jeweller who'd once had a posh shop in Vienna – made it for me," Georg answered. "I hope you like it."

"I love it," Maria answered, opening the chain and putting it around her neck. "I'll wear it, always." Her cold hands were fumbling with the tiny lock. "Only it seems I can't close the lock."

"Up here!" he commanded, once again sounding like the stern Captain.

Maria moved forward, kneeling on the bed and presenting him with the back of her neck and the clasp. For a moment his fingers - amazingly warm considering how cold the room was – touched hers, then she let go of the chain, waiting for him to close it. He fumbled for a moment too, his hands on her neck and her head so close to his shoulder that she could feel the warmth of his body. And there was his smell and Maria couldn't breathe anymore. She wanted – oh, how she wanted the moment to last forever, but then he announced: "Done!"

Looking up and reaching for the edelweiss, its chain now securely around her neck, she turned to find him watching her, his eyes as blue as the summer sky over the mountains of their beloved homeland.

"Georg." Had she only thought or indeed said his name? Maria didn't know and didn't care. Her body had taken over, acting on its own accord, and she sank down on his chest, her mouth searching for his. Her hands cupped his face, one gliding up over his temples into his hair while the other stroked the form of his jaw and his cheek, already a bit stubbly again even though he'd shaved before church.

For a few seconds he was totally surprised. His entire body tensed and she was afraid he'd turn away and push her off the bed, but then he answered her kiss, opening his mouth and closing his eyes as his arms came around her, holding her firmly.

"Georg, oh Georg," she whispered.

He broke the kiss, his lips now on her neck, licking and sucking it and then he turned her around, pinning her down with his weight, kissing her with the hunger of a starved man while his hand covered her breast. "I love you, Maria, I love you!" He sounded almost desperate and she could only answer by kissing him again and tugging at his shirt, fumbling with the first button of it.

She needed him, needed to feel his skin, needed to be close to him, and needed him to fill her. Now he was bending down, pulling down the neck of her gown, moving it away and kissing the swell of her breast.

It wasn't enough. It was far from being enough. Almost roughly she pushed him away, slipped out of her gown and night shirt at once, let the clothes drop onto the rug in front of his bed and turned to face him, completely naked.

"You're so beautiful, Maria!" He didn't bother unbuttoning his shirt but pulled it over his head and threw it carelessly in front of the bed.

"I love you, Georg." Maria marvelled at his sight, stroking with one finger down over his shoulder to his chest. He'd lost weight around his middle, but at the same time his upper body had become more muscled and defined. "I've loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you and I'll love you for the rest of my life."

His answer was a whisper: "Maria – my Maria." Bending down he kissed her forehead and let his lips glide down over her nose, only briefly touching her mouth before he shifted and started to plant butterfly kisses on her neck and chest.

Lying still, only her hands playing with his hair, Maria looked down at his dark head. He'd grown a little grey and she hadn't noticed before. She wrapped it around her finger at the same time cradling his head against her. Suddenly he wasn't kissing her anymore, but was quiet and she felt how his fingers on her skin trembled and the muscles in his back tensed. There was something hot and wet on her breast and Maria thought her heart would break.

"Georg, oh Georg," she whispered.

He drew a shuddering breath so deep that his entire body was rocked by it – he was crying, the painful sobs of a man who probably hadn't allowed himself to cry in years. Maria felt tears well up in her eyes too and she held him close, her head bent down to him, her mouth in his hair. For a moment she didn't know what to do. Her strong, proud husband crying in her arms – it was like hell and heaven at the same time. She suffered with him, knowing how desperately sad he must have been to break down like this and at the same time she rejoiced. He was in her arms, he'd let her be close to him again, and he allowed her to see his despair and to comfort him. "Beloved …"

The wireless at the other side of the street was now playing dance music and there was laughter and the rough voice of a man, calling out "Merry Christmas!" Maria smiled down at her husband and kissed his temple once again. He'd become quiet now, just lying there, his hands on her shoulders not moving anymore. Had he fallen asleep, exhausted from his tears? His breathing had calmed down and his body felt almost limp.

"Maria." His voice sounded hoarse. He raised his head, his eyes reddened and still wet. "I'm sorry …"

"I'm not!" she interrupted him firmly, cupping his cheeks and pulling him up to her. Kissing him tenderly, she continued: "You needed that, Georg. No one, not even someone as strong and brave as you, can go through so much without allowing himself any relief. Think of what you've achieved in only a few months: You've gotten us away from the Nazis, you've made us safe again, and you've given us a new home and a new life."

He looked away, breathing deeply. "But for what, Maria? You and the children have lost your home, your friends, everything you've held dear."

"What I hold most dear is in my arms right now," Maria answered and used her hand to turn his face to her. Looking deeply in his eyes, she proceeded: "Georg, we've lost our homeland, but we've gained freedom – and you've taught the children a very valuable lesson: To stand up for your convictions no matter the cost, not to give in, to fight for what you believe. And they've got it, Georg. Do you know, really know, how much they love and adore you? Your sons idolize you and the girls – you know, that woman talking to Louisa at the stables was right. It will be hard for your daughters to find love because they'll compare every boy they meet to their father. You're their hero – and," she kissed him again, "you're mine."

"Yours?" He was looked sceptical and said with a lop-sided, awkward grin: "What's the king in Schiller's 'Don Carlos' saying? 'Madame, you've seen me in weak hours …"

"Weak? You? Never, Georg!" Maria shook her head. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes for a moment. "Georg, I must apologize to you. I was unfair and I hurt you. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Maria, it was I who behaved like an idiot! So it's definitely me who needs to apologize."

"Do we need to argue about that?" Maria asked with a little smile.

"Not if I can avoid it," Georg replied. "As far as I'm concerned, I really hate arguing with you. I love you, Maria – even if I haven't shown it much in the last several weeks."

"And I love you, Georg – even if I haven't show it much either." She pulled him close again, for a moment simply enjoying holding him and playing with his hair. But then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him up, turning him on his back and moving over him to kiss his chest while she let her hand sneak down under the blanket, touching his thigh. He was still wearing his pyjama trousers and looking up at him, Maria – a bit surprised by her own boldness, but fully determined to show him how she really felt – stated: "I think you're overdressed, Baron von Trapp."

"What are you up to, Baroness?"

There was the little spark dancing in his eyes again and she knew that any moment now the dimples on his cheek would make an appearance. "Well, what does it look like to you?" She was bending down once more, letting just the tip of her tongue touch his chest. "I'd say I'm just trying to seduce my husband."

"I don't think so." He used one hand to wrap the blanket around her while he pulling his trousers down with the other. "You know, seducing means to overcome resistance. I don't believe you'll find any resistance on my part."

* * *

"What are you doing, darling?" Maria mumbled as she shifted to snuggle against Georg's back.

He was sitting on the side of the bed pulling on his trousers, but he turned, kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket back around her shoulders. "I need to get up, Maria. You know, horses have the rather bad habit of needing to exercise at least once a day, even on Christmas."

"That's not nice of them!" Maria stretched, noticing a slight ache in her thighs. They'd made love almost all night, only falling asleep two hours earlier.

"Well," Georg was on his feet, walking over to the window and closing it, "yesterday I tried to persuade Conversano Theokratia to take the younger boys out for a walk in the park. I even promised him some money for ice cream, but I couldn't get him to agree. He was afraid there wouldn't be enough lemon ice cream for all of them." He was at his closet now, collecting his clothes.

"Ah – and why won't he try some strawberry or chocolate ice cream?" Maria giggled, noticing with happiness that he'd taken out one of his new shirts.

"Maria!" Georg looked appalled. "We're talking about Lipizzan stallions here! Strawberry is too pink for them and chocolate – it makes for such nasty spots in their white coats!" He grinned, looking very young and boyish with his tussled hair.

"How could I've forgotten that?" Maria reached for her nightshirt, shivering in the coldness of the room. "Will Friedrich and Louisa go to the stables after church?"

"I certainly hope so. Our dear customers are almost all away celebrating Christmas, which means that Alois and I have to exercise around seventeen or eighteen horses. If the children don't help with a least two or even three, I'll spend the tomorrow night on my belly. Even my backside can't cope with more than seven or eight horses a day."

"I wish I could help you," Maria sighed.

Georg, now in his dressing gown with his clothes hanging over his arm, bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. "Actually you can. You could come over after mass and sit in the stands, lending me moral support. And if Pluto Bona doesn't throw me this morning, I'll probably even show you the hay stay."

"I do know how hay is stored," Maria replied. "I grew up on a farm."

He grinned. "I remember. Nevertheless you'll want to see our hay stay. It's your only chance to have me on your own for a few moments without children, customers, horses or Aloises wanting something from me."

"Will you kiss me there?" Maria asked.

"That was the intention, yes."

Maria laughed, feeling light-hearted and happy. "Who would have thought that I'd ever get to kiss the noble Baron in a hay stay?"

"Life is full of surprises, Baroness!" Georg looked at the clock at the nightstand. "I must really run, darling."

"So must I." Maria closed her dressing gown. "I think I should give my hard-working husband some breakfast, shouldn't I? Besides Liesl will wake up soon."

"And you wouldn't want her to notice that you didn't sleep in your bed last night?" Georg chuckled. "You know, you could just tell her that you've only fulfilled another obligation of yours."

"Obligation?" Maria wondered.

Georg used his free hand to pull her close to him. "It's called 'marital duty', my love," he chuckled, but then became very serious. "Thank you, Maria."

"What for? Fulfilling my marital duty? It was a pleasure for me as well, Georg," she answered, snuggling her head on his neck.

"I didn't mean that. I meant …" He fell silent, lifting her face up to him and looking in her eyes. "Thank you for loving me, Maria, even when I behave like an idiot. Thank you for being there. Thank you for being the wonderful woman you are."

* * *

As it turned out, Maria got kissed in Alois' little office rather than the hay stay. She'd arrived at the stables with the children – even Kurt, normally not interested in horses, had wanted to join the rest of the family – and met Georg on his feet, just coming out of the hall, leading a big chestnut gelding into his stall. Louisa had immediately jumped at him, eagerly asking: "Who am I to ride, father?"

Georg had pulled the saddle and the bridle off the chestnut, clapped his neck and smiled at his daughter. "What about Conversano Theokratia?"

"Really?" Louisa beamed. The experienced stallion who knew 'all of the great stuff', as Louisa always said, was her favourite and she loved riding him.

"Really!" Georg had confirmed. "But I expect you to present him clean – that means white all around and without any straw in his tail!"

"Of course, father!" Louisa had sounded almost insulted. Generously she'd offered Gretl and Marta: "You can help me with grooming Conny." Turning to Maria she'd assured her: "Don't worry, mother. Conny's an absolute sweetheart."

"Indeed, he is," Georg had nodded and looked at Friedrich who'd been patiently waiting. "Up for some work too?"

"Yes, father – who shall I work with?" he'd asked back, his eyes searching for Liesl and the dark-haired girl she was talking too.

"Hmm – what about the new jumper?" Georg had pointed to a big, brown gelding in the opposite stall. With one eye twinkling at Maria, he'd added with a rather loud voice: "He's hot-tempered and not easy to ride, but I'm sure you're able to handle him. Alois is just building up a few hurdles in the outdoor arena – I think you can join him there. And if Kurt and Brigitta could help there, it would be great."

Kurt had wrinkled his forehead, not sure what "help" in this case meant, but Brigitta had whispered something in his ear and his face had lit up. "We're on our way!" he'd announced and hurried out of the stable.

"Hey, what about lunch?" Maria had looked at the baskets she'd brought. "Don't you want a sandwich?"

For once even Kurt hadn't been interested. "Later, mother – we'll help Alois now!" he'd responded and disappeared.

Maria had looked at Georg in amazement. "What's up with Kurt?" she'd asked.

He'd grinned and whispered: "I suppose Brigitta's told him that Alois is always rather generous with change for nice children who help him with the hurdles."

"Ah!" Maria had smiled. Kurt had just discovered movies and loved going to the cinema, therefore he always was in need of some spare money. "And how about you, Liesl and Julie? Do you want a sandwich?"

Both girls shook their heads. "We'll help Friedrich, mother," Liesl announced. "We'll have something to eat later."

"It seems I'm the only one who's hungry." Georg taken the baskets and waved at the groom who'd just come around a corner. "Jimmy, I need Morning Light in about fifteen minutes, please."

"Yes, sir." The boy had grinned. "White, sir?"

"But of course!" Georg had nodded and smiled at Maria. "Will you join me for lunch in Alois' messy office?"

"With the greatest pleasure, sir. You're not the only one starving. That is to say, I want something to eat too," Maria followed Georg in the stuffed room where he put the baskets down, turned around, leaned his back against his friend's overloaded desk and opened his arms. "For an appetizer I'd actually like a kiss."

Maria immediately stepped in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I missed you, Georg!" she told him.

"So did I. It was too long of a separation, wasn't it? At least four hours!" Georg kissed her – rather intensely and thoroughly, cradling her head with one hand while using his other to keep her close against body.

"Georg!" The female voice from the door sounded shocked and annoyed.

Maria jumped out of her husband's embrace and turned to the door where Tipper Burrows stood in the threshold. Rather upset – not for herself, but on Georg's behalf because Maria knew how particular he was about his privacy – she said sharply: "Hello, Miss Burrows. We must have missed your knock."

"Oh Maria – it's you! I didn't recognize you at first!" Tipper Burrows was smiling now, in that tight, sweet, forced way. "It appears you were rather busy and therefore didn't hear my knock. How cute!"

Georg cleared his throat. "Hello, Tipper. I didn't know you intended to come today. But you're just in time – in ten minutes I'll exercise your mare. Jimmy's getting her ready."

"Then I'll go and give her a carrot." Tipper turned, closing the door behind her.

To Maria's surprise Georg started to laugh. "How bourgeois of me, kissing my own wife! And you know what? I just feel like doing it again."

This time Maria was distracted and broke the kiss after a moment. "Darling, you have work to do and you really should eat something before. You've become too thin what with not eating regularly and working so hard." Kneeling down by the basket, she hoped he wouldn't notice that she'd blushed.

Georg got down on his knees as well. Reaching for one of the sandwiches, he used his free hand to raise her chin and make her look at him. "What is it, Maria?" he asked tenderly. "Your face is all red – as Brigitta would say."

"Oh," Maria pulled away and started to rummage in the basket again. "Would you like a cucumber or a tomato with your sandwich?"

Unwrapping the sandwich, he smiled. "I'd rather know why you're suddenly looking like a tomato."

"Oh, it's nothing. You should eat, Georg – you're really too thin!" Maria bit on her bottom lip, feeling the blush become even deeper.

"Maria? I'm curious!" he reminded her.

"And you are very persistent!" she sighed.

"It's a trait I share with my wife." He bit in his sandwich, chewed, cocked his head and swallowed. "Now, Baroness, out with it: Why were you blushing?"

"It's about – oh, Georg!" Maria looked away from him, studying the content of the basket. "It's – well, you're really too thin."

"I think I remember you mentioning that earlier."

"Well, your hip bones …" Maria inhaled deeply and said very quickly: "They're rather edgy and I've got bruises on the inside of my thighs."

"Oh." He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, looking more than a little awkward, and swallowed another bite of his sandwich. "I'm sorry, Maria – I shouldn't have treated you so roughly."

"No, Georg – you didn't treat me roughly. It was just what I wanted." She leaned over to him and kissed his cheek. "It's not bad, Georg, it's really not. I actually even like the little bruises. They're," she lowered her voice, "a reminder of how wonderful it felt to have my beloved husband so close to me."

"Maria …" His voice had become slightly hoarse again. "Now I'll probably think all afternoon about how I can manage to be that close to you again without bruising your lovely thighs." He tried to embrace Maria, but she slipped away.

"You won't, Captain! You'll eat your sandwich like a good boy and afterwards you'll ride your horse, concentrating entirely on it. I don't want to see you get thrown again, you know?" Maria said.

"I've already taken care of the difficult horses," he said. "For the rest of the day I'll work with the virtuous four legged children."

"Nevertheless, I want you to concentrate! Wasn't it just last week when you preached to Louisa that a horse always deserves his rider's full attention?" Maria smiled at him.

"Yes, ma'am!" he nodded. "And I'll eat my sandwich like a good boy." He grinned. "Perhaps I'll even eat a second one – you know, I need a little padding on my hipbones!"

There was a knock at the door, and then Jimmy stuck his head in. "Baron, the mare is ready."

"Thank you, I'm coming." Turning to Maria Georg asked: "Will you stay here, by the stove? It's the warmest place in the stables."

"No, I want to sit in the stands – I want to watch you," she answered.

"Then I'll get you a clean blanket. Wrap it around your legs – it will keep you warm." He swallowed the rest of his sandwich, walked out in the aisle and pulled a blanket from a pile. "Here, darling."

* * *

Maria had just gotten comfortable in the stands, watching how Louisa - who was already riding the white stallion - warmed him up with a walk, when Tipper Burrows came up the stairs. Seeing Maria, she asked politely: "May I join you, Maria? Georg will be there in a moment – he just was helping your son with the bridle."

Maria shifted and lifted the blanket. "Please, sit down and have a bit of the blanket. It's rather cold up here."

"Thank you, Maria." Tipper sat down, covering her legs.

Maria looked down in the indoor arena where Jimmy just entered, leading the black mare by her reins. Her coat was shimmering like silk, she wore a white saddlecloth and all of her legs were wrapped with white cloth.

"Oh!" Tipper laughed. "Considering my visit was unannounced, I suppose the honour is for you, Maria."

Maria didn't understand. "What honour, Tipper?" she asked.

Tipper pointed with her chin to the stallion Louisa was riding. He was wearing a grey saddlecloth and leather gaiters on his forelegs. "Look at Conversano Theokratia. He's wearing his normal, every-day equipment. The white stuff is only used when Georg wants to show off to a customer or a guest of honour."

"Thank you for the explanation. I wouldn't have noticed – my knowledge about horses and the habits of horsemen is rather limited. But even I," Maria smiled at the brunette next to her, "can see that your mare is a real beauty."

"She's got a great rider," Tipper answered.

Maria didn't reply, but only granted her companion a little smile before turning back to the hall. She knew that the woman next to her was one of the people who paid for their rent and food and therefore needed to be treated with politeness. But that didn't change the fact that Maria felt uncomfortable with the familiarity with which Tipper Burrows talked to and about Georg. Maria certainly wasn't jealous anymore – not after the last night, not now that she was feeling so close to her husband again. However, the fact that Tipper would show her crush on Georg, so obvious and unrestrained even in the presence of his wife, seemed rather disrespectful on Maria.

Georg had entered the hall. Pulling his gloves on, he looked at his daughter. "Head up, Louisa! Where are you riding? A rider should always look in the direction he's going!"

Louisa didn't answer back, but put her chin up and straightened her shoulders.

Jimmy led the mare in to the middle where Georg was waiting. Taking over the reins, Georg checked the girth and put his knee in the folded hands of the groom. The boy helped him up where Georg swiftly landed in the saddle. He greeted the women in the stands by collecting the reins in one hand and taking his soft cap off, then he got the mare walking. Suddenly his severe voice sounded again: "Louisa, use your legs! Walk doesn't mean you dream and he scuffles!"

Maria was puzzled. How had he seen what his daughter was doing behind his back without even turning his head?

Tipper obviously had noticed how Maria wrinkled her forehead. With a little chuckle she said: "You can't see them from here, but there are mirrors in this arena. One is just above us on the long side, two are in the right and left corners of the short side. They're actually used so that the riders can correct themselves, but Georg uses them to watch his pupils too. It's actually quite horrible: Even if you think he can't see you because you're behind his back – and you don't know how many of his pupils would sometimes like to hide a bit behind his back – he only needs one look to see every little mistake you're making. He isn't only a wonderful rider, he's also a great instructor." Looking directly at Maria, she asked: "Wouldn't you like to try riding a horse yourself?"

"Oh, I think I'd rather not. I'm afraid of horses," Maria answered. "But I like to watch." She hoped, Tipper Burrows would understand that she didn't want to talk – and for the next ten minutes it seemed to have worked. Tipper was keeping her mouth closed and Maria enjoyed the silence.

Just watching her husband on horseback almost made her forget about Tipper. She was aware she didn't know much about horse and riding, but she nevertheless liked how he made the mare dance and how elegant and handsome he looked.

"Maria?"

"Yes?" Maria sighed inwardly, tearing her eyes away from Georg and looking at the young woman next to her.

Tipper Burrows studied her hands which were lying in her lap. "I got engaged to be married yesterday," she said.

"Oh, how nice! I wish you all happiness!" Maria answered, this time with a real smile. Her own happiness made her suddenly regret that she'd been – at least inwardly – so unkind to the brunette.

"Thank you, Maria. But there's something I need to tell you." Tipper Burrows looked down for a moment on Georg and then shifted a bit closer to Maria, lowering her voice. "I used to have a terrible crush on your husband."

Maria suppressed a sigh. What was she supposed to say to a confession like this?

Tipper obviously didn't mind her silence. "I envied you Georg and – I'm not proud of it, but it's the truth – I tried to tell myself again and again that he wasn't really happy with you and would be better off with me. You know, Maria," now she'd taken a handkerchief out of her pocket and was wringing it between her hands, "The truth is that I tried to steal your husband away from you."

Maria breathed deeply. "Tipper, my husband certainly is not a piece of property, labelled with 'possession of Maria von Trapp'. He is a man with a mind and a will of his own – and I suppose that since you've known him for a few months you've probably come to see that will is particularly strong. It's just not possible to 'steal' Georg away from me. For us to separate one of us would have to decide to leave the other," she explained, hoping to finish this odd conversation.

Tipper nodded and folded her handkerchief again. "I've learned that, Maria – and that's why I'm talking to you. I think you should know ..." She fell silent, obviously searching for words.

"Don't I already?" Maria tried to sound light-hearted. She urgently wanted to get their talk back to a more casual level.

"No, you don't!" Tipper almost shouted. "You don't know what I've done and you probably …" her voice had become a whisper again. "You probably don't even know how much he loves you."

"The feeling is mutual", Maria replied.

"Maria, I'm so ashamed of myself!" Tipper Burrows now looked as if she'd start to cry any minute.

"Tipper," Maria smiled at the young woman. "It's not so bad. Who would understand your falling in love with Georg if not I?"

"But you wouldn't fall in love with a married man, would you?"

"I don't know," Maria answered honestly. "However, I did fall in love with Georg while he was as good as engaged."

"But you didn't try to seduce him, did you?"

Maria swallowed and wrinkled her forehead. "No, I wouldn't have done that," she answered slowly.

"I did – even knowing that he's married, I still tried!" Tipper was crying now, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks.

Nervously, Maria looked down at the ground of the indoor arena. She didn't want Georg to notice what was going on in the stands – and luckily he didn't. He was, as she had requested, entirely focused on his horse. "Tipper, you must calm down! You don't want Georg to see you crying, do you?"

"But I must tell you!" the young woman whispered. "When we were on our trip to Vermont, I really tried to seduce Georg. Only it was no use. He told me he loves you very much and even if he didn't, he respected you too much to cheat on you. Maria, you've got a wonderful husband."

"I know," Maria answered simply, sighing inwardly. She'd actually suspected that Tipper would use the trip as an attempt to get closer to Georg. During the three days he'd been away her troubled mind had plagued her with images of Georg and the beautiful brunette. She'd been sure he wouldn't cheat on her – she knew him too well to believe that. Nevertheless she'd dreaded his return because she'd been afraid that he'd tell her that he'd fallen in love with Tipper Burrows, wanted to be with her and therefore wanted a divorce.

However, after he'd come back he hadn't said a word. When she'd asked how his trip had been he'd answered "interesting, but tiresome" and then he'd asked after the children and what had been going on at home. That night, after the children were in bed, Maria had gone back to the living room where Georg was reading a newspaper. She'd sat down on the sofa, trying to work on a dress while her fingers had trembled. After one hour of waiting – an hour in which Maria had forbidden herself to ask him what had really happened in Vermont for at least a hundred times – he'd folded his news paper, yawned and said: "I'm going to bed. Good night, Maria."

He'd walked out and she'd listened to his steps on the stairs, almost crying with relief. Despite of all her jealousy, despite of all their troubles there was one thing Maria had been sure of: Georg would never ever have an affair behind her back. If he had fallen for Tipper Burrows, if something had happened between them in Vermont, he would have told her at the first opportunity. As difficult as he could sometimes be – he was still the man who'd called off his engagement with the baroness before he'd approached her. He was still a man of honour and a knight not only in name, but in character too.

"I hope I'll be as good a wife to my future husband as you are to yours," Tipper said now. "And I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for what I did."

"I don't think you need my forgiveness," Maria replied after a little moment. "You insulted Georg – and he's obviously already forgiven you."

"Insulted?" Tipper Burrows swallowed.

Maria nodded gravely. "Yes, Tipper. You're a beautiful woman and I suppose you're used to men falling for you easily. Nevertheless, I think it was an insult to believe that a man like Georg would indulge in adultery at the first opportunity. I'm rather sure that his faithfulness to me isn't only based on love and respect, but on his honour and dignity too." For a second Maria almost felt ashamed that she was now praising these values after she'd once been so hurt by him talking about them. Yet her need to make it clear to Tipper Burrows how wrong she'd been – hoping that it would teach her a life lesson and help her to avoid repeating such a mistake – drove her to proceed. "Tipper, we're talking about Georg von Trapp here, a man who gave up wealth, luxury and a truly beloved homeland for his convictions; a man who led his wife and seven children for three days over mountains on foot, carrying his youngest daughter on his back all the way, to get them away from tyranny and to protect them from the war which is coming over Europe."

"Maria, I can only repeat myself: I'm terribly sorry and deeply ashamed." Tipper used her rather crumpled handkerchief to whisk more tears from her cheek. "And I do hope that I'm going to learn from your example. I hope very much that my Timothy and I will love and respect each other as much as you and Georg obviously do."

To be continued

AN: I have once again to thank my wonderful beta Heidi. She's a darling and I really wouldn't know how to do without her!


	6. Chapter 6

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Sorry for the delay, but both my beta and I've been very busy.

Oh - by talking about my beta: Thank you, Heidi! You're a darling.

_**Chapter**__**6: Number Ten**_

Autumn 1939

Driving the old Ford he'd just bought a few days before around the corner of the quiet little street, Georg smiled fondly at Number Ten Oak Street. It was an old but stable house, painted in a cheerful, sunny yellow. It certainly didn't look as impressive as the von Trapp villa in Aigen, but Georg didn't mind. The house was his – and it was his family's home – and he couldn't have been prouder of it even if it were as big and beautiful as the Hellbrunn castle in Salzburg.

Only six weeks before the family – after having spent every free minute during the summer renovating the house – had moved in. Ever since then Georg loved coming home. He hadn't thought it possible that they would be able to get a house of their own after barely one and a half years in America. It definitely helped to have rich friends.

It had been a beautiful day in May when Tipper Burrows had married her Timothy and became Mrs. Timothy Tarlton. And much to Georg's surprise the entire von Trapp family had received an invitation to the wedding and to the great and glorious party afterwards which had been celebrated in the gardens of the famous Burrows mansion.

In the middle of the reception Tipper's father James Burrow, a sturdy man with a bald head and sharp, brown eyes, had approached Georg and invited him into his study "for a whisky and a word." There he'd scrutinized Georg and then grumbled: "So you're the guy my girl was crying about so much. I must admit you don't look at all like I'd imagined you."

Georg, feeling rather amused by the outspoken American, had only raised an eyebrow and sipped at his bourbon – "the real stuff, not one of those watery cocktails they serve out there".

"I thought you were an airy-fairy gigolo. But I was told even your title's real – and you're the former son-in-law of the Whitehead shipyard. How come you're penniless?"

Georg had leaned back and stretched his long legs. If the rich James Burrows thought he could intimidate him, he would soon learn otherwise. "My money is still in Austria – the Nazis have frozen all my bank accounts", he'd answered casually.

"You should have transferred it to Switzerland like any sensible man!" Burrows had looked at him almost accusingly.

"I was insensible enough to love my country," Georg had answered lightly. "The Nazis tried drying up Austria financially as a first course of attack. I didn't want to help them by removing my money from Austria along with so many others. And when I learned that the Nazis couldn't be stopped I became more interested in saving my family than my fortune."

"Speaking of your family," Burrows lit a big cigar and puffed the smoke in the air, "I've met your wife a few times in the stables. She's a fine girl."

Georg sipped at his whisky. He still liked malts better, but for a bourbon this wasn't bad. "I happen to agree, Mr Burrows," he said with a little smile.

"A woman like her shouldn't live in a lousy, cramped flat over a cheese shop, you know? She deserves better."

"I entirely agree with you, Mr Burrows," Georg nodded. "Only I can't help it at the moment."

"You must help it, Captain von Trapp!"

For a moment Georg was amazed. The man in front of him, who now sat down at his desk, had obviously done thorough research.

"There's a house in Sunnyside, not too far away from Central Park. I own it. The current tenants are moving out in the summer. It's old, it will need some work, but it's spacious and has a nice backyard that children can play in. You should buy it, Captain."

"I'd very much like to, Mr Burrows, but I'm afraid I can't afford it," Georg answered. He'd gotten used to being poor and didn't feel any shame about it.

"You're a hard-working man and your business is doing well. You can afford a mortgage," the man behind the desk said.

"Do you know a bank that would lend me money?" Georg shook his head. "I'm a refugee with a big family and just around 300 dollars – for the exact number I would need to ask my wife – in my bank account. We'll need that money for our oldest daughter's college tuition. "

"I like your honesty, Captain." James Burrows reached for a sheet of paper, wrote something down and folded the paper. "Fortunately I own a bank as well. Here's the address and phone number of the manager. I'll talk with him tomorrow and then you'll call him for an appointment. He'll make you a deal for the house that you can afford."

Georg certainly wasn't happy about being ordered around like that, but he'd learned to swallow his pride. Taking the paper, he put it in his breast pocket and stood up. "Thank you, Mr Burrows. You're very kind."

"You know, Captain von Trapp," James Burrows looked up at him, once more puffing big smoke clouds in the air, "there are a lot of chaps out there who'd have jumped on my daughter quicker than I could have said 'off'. She's my only child and my heiress and certainly a big catch."

"I don't think your money is the main reason that a man would like Tipper," Georg smiled. "Except for her rather silly infatuation with me she's a clever and nice young woman. She's certainly loveable for her self – her beautiful self – and not only because she's your heiress."

"Well, with my now son-in-law I believe that's the case. Timothy's got enough money himself," James Burrow had nodded. "However, without your decency my girl probably wouldn't have come to her senses about him. Therefore I owe you, Captain – and I'm a man who always pays his debts."

He'd certainly done so, selling Georg the house for a very reasonable price.

* * *

Now, having almost arrived at it, Georg noticed a rather shabby looking red sports car in the drive way. Parking his Ford on the street in front of the house, he climbed out, suppressing a groan. His back was hurting once again – the stable was entirely full at the moment and he had taught seven pupils and ridden eight horses as well. Now he was starving – once again he'd only had time to eat a sandwich between two lessons – and exhausted, wishing only for a long, comfortable soak in a hot bath tub and dinner with his family.

The strange car in the drive way probably meant that Liesl had another new admirer. Georg scowled. As proud as he was of his lovely daughter and as much as he could understand a young man falling for her, he couldn't help but feel irritated by the lot of boys who infested his house, hung around Liesl, watched her with puppy eyes and became twitchy every time he addressed one of them. Heavens, what did they think? That he would let one of them go out with his daughter without telling him before that he didn't only expect to get Liesl back at ten o'clock straight, but he also expected her to be treated like she deserved? And if one of those whelps believed he couldn't hear a car approaching in the night, he was wrong! Georg von Trapp certainly didn't intend to give one of these boys the chance to neck with his daughter in front of the house! At ten o'clock sharp he'd stand on the porch, waiting and watching. And no, charming Maria wouldn't help the whelp in question either. Georg had become pretty good at ignoring her usual sigh and the "Georg, shouldn't you trust your daughter a bit more?" He also always ignored Liesl's reminders that her mother had been only one year older than her when she'd married. Actually, the memory how he'd used every chance to kiss Agathe, even before they were officially engaged, were one of the reasons why he watched Liesl's boys so closely.

Straightening his tie, Georg walked up the four stairs leading to the front door of the house. He would have a look at Liesl's newest admirer before his bath – and he only hoped that this one was already man enough not to start stammering as soon as Georg came through the door!

Pulling his boats off on the porch, Georg listened to the voices in the house. His family obviously were in the living room – and they were talking in German. Maria was laughing now and then he heard a deep voice – a very familiar voice! Without getting his slippers, Georg stormed into the house, almost stumbling in the living room.

"Max? What the heck are you doing here?"

Max Detweiler sat on the sofa as if he'd been born there, grinning broadly. "Nice way to greet your best friend, Georg!"

"Best friend? Are you talking about yourself, Max? What's the world come to?" Georg felt almost like crying – he'd missed Max more then he'd have admitted, even to himself.

Max stood up and approached him. For a moment the both men stood in front of each other, not sure how to express their feelings. But then Georg opened his arms and pulled Max in an embrace.

"You didn't really think you'd gotten rid of me for good, did you?" Max laughed.

"Well, I would have hoped so, but I'm not that much of an optimist!" Georg gave Max a playful push. "It seems I've developed a masochistic tendency. I really missed you, Max."

"I knew you'd be unhappy without me." Max stepped back, still holding on to Georg's shoulders. Scrutinizing him, he said: "Actually I'm not sure if this redistribution of weight Maria and you have obviously done is a good idea. Your figure has turned into a dog's kennel –a bone in every corner!"

Maria who'd been sitting in her favourite chair had also gotten up to and was now wrapping her arm around Georg's waist. "I'm really trying to fatten him up, but he isn't cooperating as much as he should." She kissed Georg's cheek. "Did you eat a proper lunch today? You know, lunch – actually sitting down and eating something more than a soaked sandwich?"

"Well …" Georg looked awkward and tried the old diversion tactic. Stroking Maria's very round belly, he asked: "How are the both of you today?"

Maria laid her hand over his. "Number Ten was practising summersaults again while its mother worried about its father not eating a proper lunch."

"Number Ten?" Max shook his head. "What have you done, Georg? Produced triplets now? Or are there any new family members you haven't told me about yet, Maria?"

Maria laughed out loud. "Don't worry, Max – according to my doctor it's only one baby."

"And as far as I know, Liesl's admirers don't count as family members yet," Georg grinned. "Nevertheless: Barbara is number ten – the eight child in the family and the tenth member."

"Barbara?" Max asked.

"Maria believes that the little one is a girl," Georg explained.

"And Georg would like to have a Barbara – you know, Saint Barbara is the patron saint of sailors," Maria proceeded. "Actually," she said then, looking thoughtfully at Max and squeezing Georg's hand, "I believe Barbara just has become number eleven."

Georg felt like hugging and kissing her – but he didn't like to display affection in front of other people, even if they were his best friends. So he restrained himself to stroking the inside of Maria's wrist with his thumb – this woman who understood his feelings about his friend so well would understand this gesture too. "You're right, Maria," he said then with a smile. "Barbara's going to become number eleven."

"Uhm – could someone please explain to me what you're talking about?" Max demanded.

"Maria will while I shower and change!" Georg clasped his friend's shoulder once more and went to the door.

As he started up the stairs, he heard Maria's voice: "Think of our concert in Salzburg. There were ten people on the stage – and all of them were members of the Trapp family."

"I counted only nine!" Max still didn't understand.

Georg couldn't help it. Laughing he bent over the banister and exclaimed: "Since when have you become so modest you don't count yourself anymore, 'Uncle Max'?" Still chuckling, he ran up the stairs and into the bedroom he shared with Maria where he undressed, got himself fresh underwear, a clean shirt and flannel trousers before he walked over to the bathroom. It was Maria's and his own bathroom, directly connected to their bedroom and therefore mostly safe from the children. Putting his clothes on a stool, he looked in the mirror and for once was rather pleased with the face he saw there. It had become thinner since they'd left Austria, but he'd also acquired a deep tan which added to his appeal. Just the other day he'd heard one of his female pupils say that the tan would make his eyes look even more blue and bright, but Georg knew better. The light in his eyes came from bliss and pure, unadulterated happiness. He had the most wonderful, lovely wife in the world and she was bearing their child!

Lathering his face with lavender scented razor soap he remembered a night back in February. Maria and Liesl had once again had voice lessons and therefore he'd already been in bed when they came back home. Admittedly he hadn't been asleep yet but was reading a book which he'd immediately put down as Maria had entered the bedroom. Normally after a voice lesson she was full of enthusiasm and excitement, telling him all about it and often even singing a little.

Not so on this night. Sitting down on the side of the bed, she took his hand in both of hers and studied it as if she was seeing it for the first time. Pulling it up to her mouth, she kissed the tip of very finger and then his palm before she bent down over him, her lips searching for his.

What started as a sweet, gentle kiss soon became heated and passionate and then her voice was in his ear: "Make love to me, Georg. I need you. I couldn't think of anything else other than your hands on my breasts and your mouth on my skin. All evening I only dreamed of coming home and feeling you close to me."

He knew then. For days he'd suspected it and had watched her closely, but now he was sure and his heart was filled with joy and love for the extraordinary woman in his arms.

He made love to her, with all the tenderness he could muster and although he'd been prepared for her to react even more passionately than she normally did, he was surprised at how quickly she almost exploded and how he needed to silence her with a kiss because she'd obviously forgotten about the children sleeping in the next room.

Afterwards she wrapped herself around him as she always loved to do, her head on his shoulder, one hand on his chest and one leg over his. Sighing contently she said: "Now everything is fine. You know, Georg, I really needed you tonight."

"And last night and the night before," he reminded her with a chuckle and a kiss on her forehead.

She raised her head, looking a bit insecure. "Am I demanding too much, Georg? I know you're working very hard …"

Stroking her back he assured her: "You certainly don't demand too much. Show me the man who wouldn't enjoy being desired by such a lovely and passionate woman as you – he's certainly not me."

With another sigh Maria snuggled her head back on her favourite place on his shoulder. "I think it's you, Georg, who makes me become so … needy," she whispered and blushed. "You know, even in the parish women sometimes talk about their men. There's this one who's very noisy and loud. She once pitied me for needing to deal with a man who – and I quote her – 'obviously can't get enough'."

"Oho – and how does she know that?" Georg asked.

"You're a father of seven," Maria replied. "And the noisy one, as well as her friends, is convinced that the 'marital duty' is something men enjoy and women have to bear. I actually believe it's their husbands' fault that they feel so. They obviously neither know nor bother about how they could make their wives enjoy it. Yet you do. You always care about my pleasure."

Georg smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. "It's pure, sheer selfishness, my darling," he told her. "For one it makes you approach me now and then rather than me always needing to seduce you. Second," he wrinkled his forehead, "I don't think I could sleep with a woman who doesn't really want to. It would feel like rape."

"Georg?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you!" Maria kissed him once again and then laid her head back on his shoulder.

For a few blissful seconds Georg simply held her, inhaling the fine smell of her hair and the warmth of her body. Trying to sound casual, he then asked: "Shall I get you some pickles or ice cream?"

"Why would I want pickles or ice cream in the middle of a night?" For a moment Maria looked at him as if she doubted his sanity. Then it dawned on her. "You think I'm …?" She didn't finish the sentence, but clapped her hand over her mouth.

Georg smiled at her. "Yes, Maria, I believe you're with child."

"But how would you know?" She was sitting in the bed now, staring at him as if she'd never seen him before.

"Darling, when did you have your last period?"

"Oh …" She wrinkled her forehead. "Two weeks before Christmas, I believe – but you know, it's never very regular."

Georg pulled her back in his arms, with one hand tenderly cupping her breast. "Think about this, my love: Just this morning you complained about gaining weight as you were buttoning your blouse." Turning her around on her back, he kissed the tip of her left breast which made her promptly moan quietly. Georg smiled. "You haven't gained weight. Your breasts are growing and," he kissed the right one, "becoming very sensitive."

"And that's a sign?" Maria asked, her hand on her belly.

"It's one, but not the only one," Georg explained. "Another one is your appetite."

Maria shook her head. "But I really don't want pickles or ice cream! And the banana I had for breakfast – it looked so tempting! You know, I've always been fond of bananas."

"But not for breakfast!" Georg, bracing his head on his right hand, covered her hand on her belly with his left. "Besides I wasn't talking about your appetite in matters of food …"

"Oh!" She was blushing. "I wouldn't have thought of that as a symptom of pregnancy."

"Why not?" Georg stroked her abdomen. "The thought of you carrying our child makes me want to be as close to you as possible. In your case you have to add certain changes in your body: More blood is going to your pelvic region, your breasts growing and becoming more sensitive, your entire body is changing …"

"Actually I like this symptom!" Maria giggled. "It's better than morning sickness, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately, as far as morning sickness is concerned, you are not out of the woods yet," Georg told her. "It's possible that you will develop all the usual symptoms from morning sickness to odd cravings to sudden mood swings in the next few weeks."

For a moment Maria scrutinized his face very seriously. Then she started to smile again. "It's useful to have such an experienced father at one's side," she said.

"You are still going to need to see a doctor, darling. I'm afraid I can't save you from that." Georg knew how much Maria disliked doctors but in this case he would insist.

The protest came quickly: "But why, Georg? Being pregnant isn't a kind of sickness!"

"It's nevertheless a condition where a doctor's advice is necessary!" Georg immediately replied. "I want you and the baby in the best of health. Therefore we'll make an appointment with the doctor tomorrow."

"Oh, dear!" Maria sighed. "Will you at least come with me?"

"Of course. It's my baby too, isn't it?" Georg bent down and kissed her. "And now, Baroness von Trapp, you should try to get some sleep. Pregnant women need a lot of rest."

"Yes, Captain, sir!" Maria wrapped her arms around his neck. "But I'll still get a goodnight kiss, won't I?"

"Of course." Georg hugged and kissed her tenderly. "I love you, Maria," he said.

"And I love you, Georg!"

* * *

Georg couldn't remember ever having felt so loved and happy in his life. He'd always been delighted to become a father again, but in this case the baby meant even more to him than ever before. It was new hope, the proof that Maria and he'd made it through their difficult journey, that they'd really and finally arrived in their new life and that their love had become stronger as a result of fighting side by side.

He obviously wasn't the only one who felt that way. After their visit to the doctor's office – who'd of course confirmed the pregnancy and had been pleased that mother and child were very healthy – Georg had invited Maria to a little tea shop where she asked him when they would tell the children.

Georg had grinned. "I'm afraid they won't be pleased."

"Really?" Maria looked anxious. "Don't you think they'd like having another sibling?"

"Oh, I think they will like that. It's only that we didn't ask for their permission for it," Georg had chuckled. "We once asked them for permission to marry, so they probably would have expected us to ask about an addition to the family as well."

However, the children had forgiven them for their arbitrary act. The reactions had gone from "It's high time to have another boy in this family" (Kurt) to "I'm so happy!" (Liesl) and "It will be fun to play with a baby" (Louisa) to Marta's generous offer to share her bed (and her pink parasol) with the new family member while Brigitta had immediately suggested that she buy a book about babies and study it. Only Gretl had been a bit worried about their parents not having time to play with her anymore when the baby was there. Yet they'd easily managed to comfort her and Georg had even promised her that she would still always get to sit on her favourite place – his or Maria's lap – in the evening. "You know, Gretl," he'd said, "even you can only sit on one lap at a time. And the same goes for the baby. Besides, babies sleep a lot. While it's asleep you will have us all to yourself!"

But the best comfort for Gretl had come from Liesl: "Just think about it: When the baby is here, you won't be the youngest one anymore, but a big sister too!"

"Georg? May I come in?" Maria had knocked at the bathroom door.

Georg, still busy with shaving, opened it. "Of course – if you don't mind talking to a naked man."

Maria entered and playfully slapped his backside. "Considered this naked man is my husband and is so nice to look at – no, I certainly don't mind." She took his clothes off the stool and sat down at it. "Admittedly – as cute your butt is, I've actually come to talk to the head of the family."

"Oh, that sounds serious." Georg turned around. "I probably shouldn't have a razor on my throat then?"

"I don't think it's that bad." Maria smiled at him. "I only wanted to talk about getting some work done over the weekend."

"Such as?" Georg asked.

"Clearing out the room in the attic and cleaning it up. Painting its walls and getting some furniture for it. You know, there's another auction at Sarrybucks tomorrow– I'm sure I can get a bed, a desk, a chair and a wardrobe there for a reasonable price. Mr. Greyson from number five would probably lend us his truck once again …"

Georg had an idea of what Maria had in mind – he'd already thought about it himself but had discarded it because it would mean even more work for Maria. So, smiling at her, he interrupted: "Darling, I'd like to have Max here as well, but don't you think it would be too much for you?"

"No, on the contrary!" Maria immediately replied. "Max loves to cook – and he's better at it than me, though that doesn't mean much. Besides he's wonderful with the children. It would really be a relief to have him here when we have little Barbara."

"Then it's settled." Georg started to shave again.

"I'm going to tell him." Maria stood up. "He's living in a little hotel in the moment and I don't think he likes it there very much. Oh and by the way: He's already gotten work. He's a talent scout of a record company."

"As long as he doesn't want my children to make records," Georg washed the soap from his face, "it's fine with me. I'm glad he's with us again."

"Georg?" Maria hugged him from behind, kissing him between his shoulder blades. "One would almost think you're fond of Max!" she teased him.

"Huh – next thing you'll believe I like you, Fräulein!" he grinned at her through the mirror.

"Oh, Captain, where would I get such an idea? I know that you're only putting up with me because you're an even worse cook than me!"

"Oho – you've seen right through me!" He turned around and kissed her. "Considering how well you know me, I can only beg you not to tell Max that I'm fond of him. He's already vain enough, isn't he?"

* * *

It was good to have Max back with the family, Maria thought – and not only because he once again proved himself to be a master of organization. He'd already told them, at their first dinner together, that he'd – at least for the time being –given up being a sponge. "I'm still very charming, but during such dire times being a sponge isn't much fun anymore. Therefore, I've decided to earn some money myself." The next day he'd approached Maria, telling her that he intended to pay rent, but "not in the form of money and certainly not to Georg. He would never take it. Instead I'll pay for a maid."

On the third day of his stay, just as Maria had started the laundry – a task which had become rather hard for her with her big belly – a big, tall, black woman had knocked at the door, introduced herself as "Susan, your new maid", explained that Mr. Detweiler had sent her, and had immediately taken over the basket of dirty clothes. "You shouldn't work so hard in your condition," she told Maria. "Just sit down and rest while I do that."

Since then Susan had taken over the laundry and cleaning, the shopping and cooking. Her first meal of "Southern fried chicken" had been a big success with Georg and the children and her chocolate cake had Georg take a third helping. Afterwards, he hung in his chair like a wet sock.

And there was something else about Susan that Maria enjoyed a lot: The older woman sang all the time. She had a deep, smoky alto and Maria learned to sing gospel music with her while she taught Susan to sing her songs. The two of them sang so well together that Max had already said he'd like them to give a concert together – an idea which had Georg protesting immediately. But even then his eyes had smiled – and that was why Maria was so happy about Max Detweiler's arrival in America. It was so good to see Georg with his friend. For her and the children it hadn't been a problem to find friends in their new home. For Georg it had been a lot more challenging.

The children had found friends at school and in some ways it had been even easier for them than in former times. In Aigen they'd always been the von Trapp children who lived in the big villa and the other children had often felt intimidated by the wealth and the fame of the von Trapps.

In America no one knew anything about the heroics of a certain Georg von Trapp. His children were simply children among others. During the first days in their new schools their schoolmates had perhaps been slightly put off by their posh English, their odd clothes and their funny names. By now, however, the children had learned American English and were wearing American clothes. Maria had insisted on it though Georg had cringed seeing his children like that – and their names had, at least in school and among their friends, become Americanized as well. Liesl was "Liz" around her friends, Friedrich had become "Fred", Marta had acquired a "h" and was called "Martha" fand Gretl had lost her "l" at the end and was simply "Gret". Only Louisa was still "Louisa" – her name was common in America too.

As far as Maria was concerned, friends hadn't been trouble for her either. Quite the opposite! During her engagement and her time in Paris she'd worried about her ability to play the role of the Baroness Trapp among the elegant people of her husband's acquaintance.

Now she didn't need to be anxious about that anymore. The women she met in church or through doing her work as a seamstress were just like her: Hard-working housewives, who looked after their men and children, enjoyed the little things life offered them and didn't worry about society and fashion. To them she wasn't Baroness von Trapp, but Maria – and when they noticed that some things in the von Trapp household were different from how they did things – such as the family changing for dinner and that Georg wore a tie even at home –they found it "funny" or even "cute". Over all they thought that Maria's husband was perhaps a bit stuffy, but he neither drank nor cursed, worked hard and always brought all his money home. And his manners – they certainly wouldn't have minded their own husbands having some of them.

So for Maria and the children adapting to their new lives hadn't been too difficult. Maria only worried sometimes about Georg. Making friends had never been easy for him - even in Salzburg he'd had a lot of acquaintances but very few true friends. In America Alois had been the only one, and though Georg had always assured Maria that he didn't need anyone other for her and the children, she'd could still tell that he'd felt rather lonely. He missed his homeland dreadfully, he didn't like living in a big city and for months he'd bottled up those feelings because he hadn't wanted to burden Maria with them. But now that Max was there, Georg's oldest and best friend, Georg had started to relax.

Of course, what Max had to say about Austria had been bad. During their second night, after the children had gone in bed, Georg had finally asked why Max had left Europe too.

"I thought you're the one who gave up all political convictions after the war to end all wars?" Georg had sounded almost bitter. Max's "keep your head down and your mouth shut and all will be well" attitude had always been the one point where hadn't agreed with his friend.

For a moment Max had looked almost awkward. Then he'd sighed. "I'm afraid I must have spent too much time with you, Georg. I can't stand riffraff anymore – not the kind who's ruling in Austria now."

"Did they bother you after our escape?" Maria had asked.

Max shook his head. "No, but soon I started to wish they would bother me. Yet Zeller obviously came to the conclusion that I hadn't gone with you because I didn't agree with you and therefore I'd be a candidate for joining his little club of the brainless. He wanted me there because I was representing a few musicians his Führer is very interested in – like Lotte Liesman, the singer and Arthur Derweg, the conductor. Hitler wanted them for Bayreuth and so I was invited there to have dinner with Winifred Wagner and her friend Wolf."

"Wolf?" Georg had asked.

"Hitler – Winifred Wagner, the daughter-in-law of Richard Wagner, and Germany's oh-so-brilliant leader are pretty familiar," Max had explained, his face showing disgust. "It was bizarre, I can tell you. Bayreuth covered with their ugly flags, Hitler surrounded by his cronies – each one of them more vulgar than the other. And he, the big man himself, looks as though he hasn't washed his hair in a month. He sounds like an old door in need of oil and talks about music although he has no clue about it. And among this crowd, clothed like a dandy, was the 'master's son', Siegfried Wagner, flamboyant and reminding me of a spoiled child. He complained all through dinner about his work not being appreciated enough because of a Jewish conspiracy. The idea that his operas are not nearly as good as his father's obviously never crossed his little mind. To think that this man isn't only the son of Richard Wagner who was – despite his rather difficult personality – a real genius, but the grandson of Franz Liszt too!" He'd sipped at his wine and shuddered.

"Sounds like a really delightful dinner!" Georg had commented dryly.

"Compared to what came later, the dinner was a delight!" Max had replied. "I was honoured with an invitation to stay. The fireplace was lit – though it was summer and boiling hot. And for the next four hours – and you don't know how long four hours can be when you must listen to stupidity – Herr Hitler was talking about his ideas for Bayreuth with Siegfried and Winifred Wagner, praising his genius while poor Madam Liesman and I didn't know if we should laugh or cry. One thing I'm sure of: If Maria and the children had done 'Meistersinger' as a puppet show, the performance would have been artistically more interesting and tenfold as original than every idea Germany's great Führer uttered during that night." (1)

To an outsider Max' complaints probably would have sounded bizarre, but Maria had understood him. Georg had once told her that Max hadn't started his career as an impresario. As a young man he'd been a piano player – and even a very talented one who was expected to make a great career.

But at that time Max Detweiler had been an idealistic and enthusiastic Austrian patriot as well and so, as the war had started, he'd said "farewell" to his piano and had become a naval officer. That was how Georg and Max had met and, being both musicians, they'd become close friends.

Then a few days before the end of the war Max had gotten injured. He'd broken his right hand a few times and since then two of his fingers didn't work properly anymore. His career as a piano player had ended before it had really started. Besides he'd lost his belief and hope in his homeland. Like so many men of his generation – Georg was another one among them – he'd felt betrayed by what he'd fought and suffered for. Yet in contrast to Georg, who'd become even more protective of his country, Max had, from then on, only fought for himself.

However, in his heart he was still a musician – and as such he couldn't stand how Hitler and his men tried to use everything - even music - to achieve their goals.

Yet even that night in Bayreuth hadn't been reason Max had left Austria. Later the same evening he'd told a shocked Maria and a furious Georg about how the Nazis treaded the Jews. "They made old Abraham Rosenstock – you remember him, don't you Georg? The green grocer at Salzburg? – sweep the street in his bare feet. I couldn't help it, I simply couldn't! I told one of the Nazis how disgusted I was and promptly found myself 'invited' to see Zeller for a little talk. He told me that it was only because of our 'old friendship' that he'd let me get away with that – and that was it. I went home, packed a few things and drove to the border. There I left the car and a letter to our friend Zeller, and following your trail, I went over the mountains to Genoa and from there I took a ship here. Luckily I've got a few connections here, so the visa and the money wasn't much of a problem."

"You wrote a letter to Zeller?" Maria had asked.

Max had grinned. "I couldn't resist. I told that I would miss hiking with you too much and advised him to try it too. A good, long hike and some fresh air would probably make it easier for him overcome his disappointment over your house."

"What about our house?" Georg had wanted to know.

"Oh my," Max had sighed. "You knew that the Nazis would take it, didn't you? Actually Zeller wanted it for himself – he thought as the Gauleiter he'd deserve something that represented his status. But Herr Himmler didn't think so. He got your house for himself, for the times he's at the festival in Salzburg and for his holidays."

"No!" Maria had reached for Georg's hand, knowing how much the thought of Hitler's vilest henchman in his beloved home would bother him.

"Well," Georg's voice had dripped with sarcasm, "Himmler certainly won't play with Marta's famous pink parasol. Instead he'll probably use my books to light the fireplace when his Führer comes to visit. Considering how many Jewish authors I collected …"

"Franz is still there," Max had told. "Someone told me he had taken some of your personal things out of the house. Elsa and I even thought it was him who sent her the anonymous package."

"Anonymous package?"

"Oh, didn't I tell you already? Around two months after your escape Elsa got a little package with a stamp from Salzburg. It contained only two items: Your Maria-Theresien cross and the old Austrian flag from your submarine which used to hang in your study. Elsa has taken the flag and cross to Switzerland to her bank safe – they're waiting there until you come back. We thought it was Franz who sent them – who else could it have been? Frau Schmidt left the day after your departure, so he was the only one who could have gotten the flag and the cross."

"A sentimental Nazi!" Georg had shaken his head. "As if I'd bother about a piece of tin and an old flag when the world is falling apart."

"I'm actually happy that the cross isn't lost," Max had stated. "Your children will probably want it one day."

Georg had lifted an eyebrow. "What for? To put it on my coffin? Max, the cross and the flag belong to another world. We're living here and now – and I've learned something from my wife: To live forward and not backward."

Actually, Maria thought, Georg hadn't learned it from her. He'd learned it by waiting for their child to be born. The baby was his symbol for their new life and since it would become the first American von Trapp, Georg had finally accepted their new country too.

* * *

Oops – what was this? Just the day before Maria had felt an urgent need to go through the baby's belongings once again and now she was sitting on her bedside, folding diapers when she suddenly felt a cramp in her abdomen. Putting her hand over it, she breathed deeply. Could it be possible that Barbara had decided to make her appearance into the world one week early?

Another deep breath and Maria concentrated on her belly. There it was again – a sharp pain which made her moan and gasp. It was clear: Barbara was on her way.

Maria stood up and put the clothes she'd just folded back in the closet, lovingly stroking one of the rompers. They would be needed soon and she almost couldn't wait any longer. How long would it take to give birth to her little one? The women in the church hadn't been very helpful in this account when she'd asked them. One had whined about suffering for days while another one had almost boasted about having her three children in only a few hours each. And even Georg, as father of seven and therefore an authority in matters of child birth, had been rather vague: "One never knows with the first one. However, Agathe told me every time that she would immediately forget all about the pain when holding a healthy baby."

Another bolt of pain cut through Maria. She needed to sit down on the bed again and started to think about what to do now. The women in the church had been shocked when she'd told them she intended to heave her baby at home, surrounded by her family. "But one doesn't have a baby at home! It's not done! You must go into a hospital!" they'd said.

Maria had told them that in Austria all women had their babies at home and that she certainly wouldn't like to welcome her little one in a sterile hospital, surrounded by strangers.

However, no one had known a midwife who would be willing to come to her home and finding a doctor willing to help her through the birth in her own bedroom had been rather difficult too. In the end it had been Alois who'd helped out once again. A German friend of his knew an older, female doctor who'd fled from Germany because she was Jewish. She now had a small office not far away from the von Trapp's place.

Once again Maria stood up. Waddling to the door, she intended to go down, to call the doctor and then Georg. She wanted him to be home when the child was born.

As she was on the stairs she was hit by another bolt of pain. Bracing herself against the wall she moaned and finally called for Susan who ran out of the kitchen, her hands covered with dough. She immediately recognized what was happening. Cleaning her hands on her apron, she came up the stairs and took Maria's arm. "I think we'll get you in bed, Maria. Then I'll call the doctor and your husband."

"I don't think I need to go to bed yet. It's only just started," Maria stated. "I've heard that with the first child it can take a while."

"One never knows," Susan repeated Georg's words and helped Maria up the stairs. "It only took me three hours to deliver my son – and in any case you'll feel better when prepared properly." They were entering the bedroom now and Susan helped Maria to lie down. "First let's get you undressed – I'll get you a comfortable nighty and then you can put your dressing gown over it when you feel like walking around. Then we'll prepare your …" She didn't get to finish her line because the phone in the kitchen was ringing. "I'll get it!" She started down the stairs.

A minute later, Maria was just slipping in her dressing gown, Susan was back again and grinned. "It seems your husband has developed a sixth sense. He wanted to know how you were doing and wasn't in the slightest surprised when I told him you're in labour. He's on his way home and knowing him, I'd say he'll break every speed limit."

"I hope he doesn't!" Maria shuddered by the thought of it. "Georg always drives too fast."

"As far as I know, his driving once saved your necks, didn't it?" Susan replied dryly while changing the sheets. Putting a thick towel on the bed, she smiled at Maria. "How do you feel?"

"Odd", Maria replied. "You know, between the pain I feel totally normal. It's hard to believe that I'm really going to give birth now." She laid her hand against her belly. "Barbara's so quiet. Do you think that's normal? Shouldn't she move more in this state?"

"How could she? She's a big girl and it's rather tight in there. Therefore," Susan chuckled, "she probably wants out as soon as possible."

"I only hope she's healthy," Maria said. "In the last weeks as we were renovating the house and moving in, my husband always scolded me for working too much. But I didn't listen to him. I wanted our home to be perfect when the baby arrives. I do hope I didn't hurt her. I would never forgive myself …"

"Maria!" Susan emphatically interrupted her. "What did the doctor say as she checked on you last time?"

"Yes, I know. She told us we were both okay." Maria walked to her nightstand and pulled her rosary out. "Nevertheless I'd like to pray."

"A prayer can never hurt." Susan had shaken the pillows in shape and was now looking at Maria "Do you think I can leave you for a few minutes? I'll only be down in the kitchen, getting the bread in the oven and the doctor on phone. If you need me, just call – I'll be up in a second!"

Half an hour later Georg had come and now, around midnight, he sat on the bed, braced against the headboard and holding Maria who felt as if she'd run a marathon. She was bathed in sweat, her hair clung to her forehead and her entire body ached. She didn't know if she could stand any more of the pain which seemed to throw her body in little pieces; she didn't know how late it was and how long she'd already suffered, but there was Georg, watching over her, encouraging and comforting her and there was music from the living room. Max had collected the children and Alois who'd come with Georg and they'd sung all night with Friedrich accompanying them at the piano. Now they were doing Bach – the cantata "Eine feste Burg ist unser Gott" (2). The ancient words and the beautiful music comforted Maria and even the grumpy old doctor who first hadn't been too happy about the entire family "hanging around" was now smiling and admitted that Bach was a great way to welcome a new member into a family of musicians.

Another wave of pain hit Maria and she couldn't help but moan.

"We're almost there!" The doctor sounded rather pleased. "With the next contraction I want you to push as hard as you can."

Maria tried to breathe deeply, the next labour pain had already hit and she felt lost and struggling and why was Georg yelling at her?

"Push, Maria, push!"

It was easy to say for him, wasn't it? He'd had seven children without needing to through so much pain!

"Push, Maria, push!"

"What do you think I'm doing here?" she cried. "It certainly doesn't feel like knitting!"

More struggling, more pushing, even more pain and then suddenly a tiny wail and the doctor's deep, pleased voice: "Now, now – who have we here?"

"Maria!" Georg bent down and kissed her and she felt something wet and salty on her mouth. "You've done it!"

The little wail became a loud cry and the music in the living room stopped, but only for a moment. Then Maria heard Liesl's clear soprano, sounding rich and full as a bell: "Nun danket alle Gott!" (3). Friedrich's tenor joined and now the entire family was singing while Maria looked at the tiny bundle in the doctor's arms.

"Is she healthy?" she asked.

"It's a big, beautiful, healthy baby," the doctor confirmed, wrapping a soft blanket around it and laying the infant carefully in Maria's arm. "Only I'm afraid it isn't a Barbara."

Maria hadn't heard the last line. She looked down at her baby. It had dark hairs and now it opened its eyes and they were as deep blue as Georg's. "She looks like you, Georg!" Maria said.

"Well, that's not too bad for a boy." He reached for a tiny finger which promptly closed around his. "Welcome to our family, son. Your brothers will be delighted to have another man in the house."

"A son!" Maria marvelled at the beauty of her newborn. "Only we don't have a name for a boy, do we, Georg?"

"I think we've got one." Looking her eyes, he proceeded: "What about 'Johannes Sebastian'? Johannes means 'God is full of mercy' – and he is, isn't he?"

To be continued

(1) Of course, Max Detweiler is a fictional character, so this dinner and the talk at the fire place never happened. But the facts – Hitler being a friend of Winifred and Siegfried Wagner, him becoming called "Wolf" in the Wagner family, Siegfried always whining about the Jewish conspiracy against his work and Hitler talking for hours about his ideas for Wagner operas – he really believed himself a great artist – at the fireplace in the home of the Wagners – are history.

(2) "Eine feste Burg ist unter Gott" A firm castle is our God, BWV 80

(3) "Nun danket alle Gott" Now let's say thank to God, BWV 192


	7. Chapter 7

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter**__**7: An officer and gentleman**_

December 1941/January 1942

"Let's be blunt, Ron: When it comes to the Mediterranean – and we both know that we need to go there – we're in deep shit." Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester crossed his rather short legs in his blue uniform trousers and sucked angrily at his cigar. "I was talking with Lord Fenswick yesterday and you won't believe it: Even the English Embassy's proud minister admits that our friends, the Tommies, can't go there without us. Nelson's glorious ancestors are at their wits end – or better said, at their supplies' end. They're fighting all over Europe, they've lost already too many men and ships. We need to help them out, but with none of us having the slightest clue about this sea I would have to put my fleet under their guidance. That, Ron, isn't acceptable at all!" The Admiral let his fist fall down on his desk. "Get me someone who knows his way around there, Ron! Get me a retired Italian shipper – and I don't even mind if he's only ever shipped garbage as long as he knows that coast like the back of his hand."

"Well, I'm afraid a civilian won't do," Captain Ronald Soller replied. "Intelligence says the Germans already have a few of their submarines down there."

"Confirmed." The Admiral leant back. "It's hush-hush of course, but Fenswick told me that one of their tankers was already attacked by a submarine. Of course, they don't know exactly if it was a German or Italian one – but Fenswick thinks it was a German one. He says the aim of the Italians is usually so lousy they wouldn't hit a carrier if it's half a mile in front of them. However, it doesn't matter if it's Italian or German. The Tommies need everything that swims to hold Malta and Gibraltar; they simply can't afford to send their frigates out to deal with submarines. We have to go there – and soon! And that means we need an Italian shipper!"

"Well," Ronald Soller pulled his handkerchief out and wiped his bald head. Although it was winter, the admiral's office was too warm with a big fire roaring in the fireplace. "I think it will be rather difficult to find an Italian we can trust. But," he put the thin folder he'd been holding on the admiral's desk, "have a look at that."

The admiral had already opened the folder and was now looking at a yellowish piece from an old newspaper. It showed the photograph of a dark-haired young man with a moustache in a dark uniform. Around his neck hung a broad band with a silver cross. Impatiently the admiral scowled: "You know I don't speak German. What's this about?"

"That's an article from the Vienna Tagblatt in October 1916," the captain explained. "It tells the heroic story of the youngest Austrian-Hungarian naval officer who ever received the Maria-Theresien-Cross, the highest order the Emperor gave out. It was rewarded for independent action – the kind of action which gets you highest honour when a success and a court-martial when a failure. This guy got it when he was just a twenty year old lieutenant. One year later I met him in England – he'd come to take over a submarine while I was there for training."

"And you became friends!" the admiral smiled. "Are you going to tell me a story about the good old days?"

Ronald Sollers laughed. "Do you want me to, sir?"

"I'm grateful for any kind of distraction in the moment!" The admiral grinned. "Especially when there's a point which leads to something – as your stories usually have."

"Thank you, admiral. So then you'll get your fairy tale – only it isn't about me becoming friends with the Austrian-Hungarian hero. Just on the contrary: I hated his guts. Just imagine: We were a mixed group of young officers – mostly English, a few Americans and two or three Austrians. We'd already been at the Whitehead shipyard for months – torpedo training, you know? – and every single of us was swooning over the lovely Agathe Whitehead, the daughter of the shipyard's owner. She enjoyed our attention, she was very nice to all of us, but treated us like a lot of whelps playing around her feet. And then, one day, this dashing Austrian baron arrived, all baby blue eyes and an arrogance you'd want to throttle him for. Our princess saw him and was blown away. Only four weeks later the happy couple announced their engagement and around eight weeks after they'd met for the first time, the day before he was boarding his new submarine, Agathe Whitehead became Baroness von Trapp and every one of us dreamed of keelhauling her new husband."

The admiral enlightened his cigar anew. "They lived happily ever after?"

The captain sighed. "Unfortunately only for a few years. After the war the baron – now a Korvettenkapitän which is similar to our lieutenant commanders – became a civilian and moved to Austria with his wife. They had seven children …"

"Seven children?" The admiral grinned. "The man obviously found a new hobby after losing his commission."

"Agathe Whitehead loved Shakespeare and obviously thought of his saying 'The World must be peopled'," the captain grinned back. "They probably would have made the full dozen, but a few months after the birth of their seventh child she died of scarlet fever."

"Sad story," the admiral sighed. "Can we get to the part where the fairy tale becomes relevant to our duty?"

The captain took the folder back. "I think the man is the solution of our problem. He was born in Pola – a former port of the Austrian navy in Croatia. Then he grew up in Marseille – his father had died, his mother had married again and his stepfather was a French man. Yet they had a villa in Croatia and spent all their summers there. Around the age of 12 or so he became a cadet at the Austrian-Hungarian naval academy in Fiume, Italy. The man began his entire naval education in the Mediterranean sea and he served there for three years. I think you'll hardly find someone who knows the coasts there better than Korvettenkapitän Georg von Trapp. And he's a u-boat man …"

"Hmm." The admiral was watching the fire. "Sounds good. The only problem is, how do we get the man? We can't send him a letter asking if he'd like to join the American Navy – Austria is now a part of Germany, isn't it? Your hero probably has joined Hitler's navy and is fighting against us."

"As I've said: Von Trapp is arrogant." Captain Soller pulled another folder out of his map, labelled "top secret'. Grinning he opened it. "He'd never lower himself to work with such riff-raff as the Nazis. Look here, sir." He put the folder on his superior's desk and leant back.

Admiral Forrester studied the report. It was an account about Georg von Trapp's escape from Austria and how he'd come to USA. "Fleeing with seven children and a young wife," he said then, admiration in his voice. "He sounds a brave man with a strong character. Actually I see only one problem with him: He must be around 50 now – a bit old for active duty, don't you think?"

"He's exactly 46 now." Captain Soller replied. "Besides he should be as fit as a fiddle …"

"Oh, here I see: He's become a father again. A son named Johannes Sebastian – odd names those Austrians have – born in 1939 and a daughter named Barbara Agathe, born last year. The man's definitely fit," the admiral said.

"I actually didn't think of his potency," the captain laughed. "I thought of the work the man is doing. He's become a professional rider and riding instructor. It's said that his pupils all swoon over him – especially the female ones."

"They'll need to find something else to swoon about," the admiral decided. "I want this man. You'll go to New York tomorrow and get him."

"What can I offer him?" Captain Soller asked, taking paper and pen out.

"Hmm – the man isn't an American citizen yet? So let's start with the citizenship for him, his wife and the children who haven't got it yet. We'll make him a full captain with his years in the Austrian-Hungarian navy counting for pension. Besides he'll need a house – the usual stuff, Ron. I want this man in my staff, so let's spoil him!"

* * *

"So, little one, now you're all fresh and clean and ready to get fed again." Georg came around the bed, putting his youngest daughter in Maria's arms.

She kissed the infant's forehead, opened her shirt and, while giving the baby her breast, smiled up at her husband. "And when she's full, she'll make that you'll get to change her nappies again."

"As long as she gives me at least two or three hours of sleep before hand, I don't mind." Georg sat down on his bedside, watching how Maria breastfed their child. Sometimes, when doing so, he wondered why. As a father of nine he should have become accustomed to this sight long before. Nevertheless it never ceased to touch him. His wife, his Maria – he'd always thought her beautiful, but now with the child she was for him the most lovely woman alive. And little Barbara – he had to admit that he had actually wanted a girl with the golden hair and the fair skin of her mother. However, Barbara Agathe – Maria had insisted on naming her after his first wife – was entirely his daughter with dark hair, deep blue eyes and – to Maria's delight – even the dimples in her cheeks. Besides Maria maintained that Barbara had inherited her determination and temper from her father, too. Now she used the first to drink hungrily, her little fists balled and her face reddened in concentration.

"Georg?" Maria was looking at him. "You've been rather quiet since the captain left."

"Hmm," he nodded. "I've been thinking."

"Of course. It's a big decision, isn't it?" Maria reached with her free hand for his, entwining their fingers.

"What you're thinking about, Maria?" he asked.

"It's not my decision to make, but yours, darling," replied Maria, pulling his hand to her mouth and kissing it. "Whatever you decide to do – I'll stand behind you.

"I know, and I appreciate your support. Nevertheless it isn't only my decision, but ours. It concerns you and the children as much as it concerns me," Georg said thoughtfully. "If I take the commission, it means either a separation or the entire family moving to Annapolis. New schools for the children, a new house …"

"Captain Soller said they'd give us a nice, spacious house," Maria kissed her daughter's forehead before she put the protesting baby on her other breast. "And I'm sure they have good schools there. However, the most important question is: Would you like to become an officer again, my captain?"

For a few seconds Georg was silent. Then he slowly said: "I admit I miss the sea. And I've always loved being on a ship. Even in wartimes it gives one a sense of freedom I've never felt anywhere else. On the other hand I'd hate to be separated from you and the children."

"And how would you feel about fighting the Germans?" Maria asked.

Georg sighed. "I actually try to avoid thinking about it."

"Why is that, Georg?"

"Well," he sighed once again. "If started to think about it I'd probably come to the conclusion that it is one's duty to fight them. Just imagine what would happen if they win this war! Of course, we'd be safe here, but what about the people in Europe?"

Barbara was done with her meal. Yawning she let her head roll to the side, looking up at her mother out of sleepy eyes. "Come to father, little one!" Georg reached for her, laying her against his shoulder and tenderly patting her back until she burped. "So, young lady. I think you're ready for bed!" he said and stood up.

Maria had closed her night shirt and had stood up as well. "I'm going to check on Johannes and Gretl. She was a bit under the weather today."

Georg was just putting Barbara in her crib. "By the way: It's around ten o'clock. Where's Liesl?"

"Oh, Georg!" Maria sighed. "You know she's attending Grace's birthday party."

"Hmm. I take it that boy who's always hanging around here is there too?"

"Yes, Georg, that boy – whose name is Carlton, as you very well know and who is really a nice and well-mannered young man – is there too," Maria answered firmly. "And he is pretty fond of your daughter."

"I don't like him!" Georg stated. "He treats me like an old man! And didn't you see how he tried kiss her as when they came home the other day?"

"Well, your daughter actually didn't look as if she was protesting," Maria laughed and hugged him from behind. "You know, you're rather cute when you're over-protective?"

"Cute?" He turned around, taking her in his arms.

"Cute!" Maria confirmed, raising up on her tip toes and playfully biting in the tip of his nose. "Nevertheless I'm going to look after our children now." A peck on his cheek and she was gone.

Georg looked at Barbara who was now sleeping peacefully. Tucking the blanket around her, he bent down and kissed her forehead. "Your mother still is a whirlwind, isn't she? But you know what? I wouldn't like her any other way and I hope she'll never change." Slowly walking to the big bed, he slipped out of his dressing gown, folded it neatly, hung it over a chair and crawled under his blanket.

His thoughts went back to the visitor they'd got this evening. His timing had been perfect: They'd just been finished with dinner and Georg had gone out onto the porch to see Liesl off when the big, blue car had stopped in front of the house. Although the driver had worn a civilian grey suit Georg had immediately recognized him as a military man. There had been something in his bearing which was standard – at least to someone who'd so long lived among officers as Georg. And then, at second glance, he'd recognized the man. "Commander Soller – or are you already an admiral now? To what do I owe thehonour of your visit?"

Ronald Soller had taken the hand Georg had offered him. "It's Captain Soller, Baron – and I came to offer you a commission."

Georg had invited him in and called for Maria. Together they'd listened to the offer which was more than generous. Georg especially liked the part about the citizenship. As much as he'd loved being an Austrian – Austria wasn't there anymore. They were now stateless refugees who needed to plead for a renewed visa every six months. Of course, since Johannes' birth it had at least become easier for Maria. As the mother of an American citizen she'd gotten papers as an immigrant and was safe in America now. However, Georg had always worried about the rest of the family.

If he became an American naval officer this problem would be solved. Captain Soller had promised that they'd give him, Maria and all the children American citizenship.,And there was another problem which would get solved: His back and his job didn't get along very well. Twice in the last year he'd suffered from lumbago and by now he almost couldn't remember a day without pain. Of course, Maria did her best to help him, massaging his back every evening, providing him with salve and hot water bottles, but since his last visit at the doctor – Maria had insisted him consulting one – he knew that he wouldn't be able to ride professionally for much longer. The doctor had already wanted to get him out of the job now, saying: "You're living dangerously, Baron. Another fall could get you in a wheel chair."

It seemed almost ironic that he would probably find life less dangerous as an officer. Yet it was the truth, even in war times. He knew he wouldn't get a ship immediately, but certainly spend the first months being schooled anew. It would be necessary since it had been more than twenty-five years since he'd commanded a submarine. And even if he would get a ship – they'd send him to the Mediterranean where he knew his way around.

There was actually only one thing he really disliked about the offer: That it would mean a separation from his family. If he were to take over command of a ship again he would be away from home for months. He wouldn't see how Johannes learned to walk; he wouldn't hear Barbara's first words; he wouldn't be there to teach Kurt how to shave; he wouldn't be able to make sure that Liesl was treated decently and he wouldn't be there to coach Louisa who was becoming a really good rider. And how would he live without Maria? He was used to waking up next to her, to seeing her smile as the first thing in the morning, to getting a kiss first thing in the morning before getting out of bed.

And there were the nights. Although they were in their third year of marriage now, the nights were something Georg still marvelled at and still wondered about.

Once, as a young man, he'd loved Agathe with all the passion his age had made for. She'd loved him back and she'd enjoyed how much he desired her, but in a way she'd remained the delicate princess, even in the intimacy of their bedroom. With Agathe, making love had been all about tenderness and consideration for her sensitive body. Georg hadn't minded – certainly not.

Of course, Agathe hadn't been the first woman he'd made love to. His stepfather, though he'd barely been interested in Georg, had looked after that, telling 18 year old Georg that "l'amour" was something a gentleman needed to become educated at too. So he'd led Georg to his "club" where an experienced lady had shown him a few lessons on how to please a woman. He'd been grateful for these lessons – they'd certainly helped him later with his young wife. But there was one thing he hadn't learned, either with his professional "instructor" or with Agathe: That his passion and desire could find their match in a woman, that sometimes tenderness wasn't enough, and that he didn't need to hold himself back all the time.

That was what Maria had taught him. For her, the intimate part of their relationship wasn't only a way to show him gentleness and love, but she needed him as much as he needed her and she showed him her desire with a frankness which never ceased to amaze and to arouse him.

How he'd come to love the little signals she would send! When he came home in the evening she didn't only kiss him – he was now used to kissing her even with if of the children close by and would announcing to the others "They're smooching again!" – but also let her hand wander down on his back, briefly squeezing his behind; when she kissed him good night and started opening the buttons of his shirt; when she took his hand and put it on her breast – she showed him what she wanted and every time he felt blessed for not only having a wife who was his best friend, but a wonderful, passionate lover as well.

She was back in the bedroom now, smiling. "You know what, Baron? You've got really disclipined children. The young are all sleeping deeply and certainly won't disturb their parents in the next few hours."

He reached for her and pulled her down on the bed between his spread legs with her back against him. With his mouth in her soft hair he said: "I was thinking, Maria …"

Maria laid her hands over his, entwining her fingers with his as she always loved to do. "Of course you were thinking. One doesn't get an offer like that every day."

"Well, the last time I was offered a commission …" One of the many things he loved about Maria was that she even understood what he didn't want to say out loud.

This time she squeezed his hand. "Last time it didn't need any consideration. There was no way you could have become one of them."

"Now I'm asked to fight against them …" Once again he didn't finish his line.

"Does the thought bother you?" Maria asked softly. "Do you think you would fight against former comrades?"

Slowly Georg shook his head. "No, I don't think so. There aren't many of us left – and the few who survived are mostly too old for active duty, as I am."

"The Americans don't seem to think so," Maria reminded him.

"They're desperate. They don't have officers with experience in the Mediterranean sea," Georg sighed. "In a way it feels like my duty to support them. Hitler must be stopped. The idea of him winning this war …"

"… is unthinkable," Maria finished for him. "It's settled then, Georg, isn't it? If you think it your duty …"

"Maria," now he interrupted her, "there is another duty I have to consider – the one to you and our children."

"We're safe and sound, Georg." Maria turned around und cupped his face with her hands, looking in his eyes. "I know, Georg: If you take this commission, it means a separation and perhaps not only for a few weeks, but even for months. I'd hate it and the children would miss you dreadfully too. But," she was slightly blushing now, "when we came back from our honeymoon and you were arguing with Max about us singing at the folk festival, he asked me to persuade you at least to pretend going along with those people. I told him I couldn't ask you to become less than you are. I still stand by that answer, Georg."

For a moment he only looked at her and then he pulled her close, holding her while he whispered in her hair: "I don't know what I did to deserve you, Maria."

Maria leant back, kissing the tip of his nose. "But I do. You deserve my and the children's love and adoration for being the brave, noble, selfless man you are. And whatever you decide, we'll be at your side, proud and loving."

Once again he fell silent for a few seconds. Then, without looking at her, he cleared his throat. "Maria, we both know we're not talking about taking on a normal job. We're talking about my becoming a soldier in wartime – and that means I could end up in very dangerous situations that could have dire consequences."

Maria put her finger over his mouth. "Hush, Georg! I know what we're talking about, but I refuse to think about it."

"Maria, you can't close your eyes. When thinking about such a decision one has to face reality – as cruel it could be in this case."

For a few seconds Maria didn't answer but only snuggled against him. Raising her head, she said then: "One of the most important realities in my life is my trust in God. He led me to you, He protected us during our escape from the Nazis, He helped us build a new life here and He blessed us with our wonderful children. We're in His hands and as long as we believe in Him, he'll lead us on the right path. I know He'll protect you wherever you go. And if He should decide one day to take one of us away from this life, we'll only be separated for a short time. We'll find each other again – about that I'm sure."

Georg couldn't answer in words, he could only hold her against him more firmly. Sometimes he almost envied her for her seemingly childlike belief and trust in God. For him it had always been more difficult. He'd often fought with God, accusing Him for taking his their mother away from his children and from him his wife. And during the day in Zurich when he'd learned that they would have to start a new life with almost no money, he'd been really furious at God. He'd sat at the strand of the Zurich lake, looking up at the mountains and accused God of "unfairness", repeating a few times in his thoughts: "I really wouldn't mind if You punish me. I probably deserve it for the arrogance and ignorance I showed You for most of my life. But why are You punishing my children? Why are You doing this to Maria who never did anything bad in her life and who only ever tried to follow Your will? She doesn't deserve poverty and worries!"

However, now he'd gotten it. The change in their life - what he'd seen as fate playing a cruel trick on them – it had given his wife an opportunity to be at her best. It had given her the chance to use her strengths and to grow close to him in a way they'd probably never have managed in their old life. Today the thought of how he'd wanted to spoil her seemed almost ridiculous to him. All the things he wanted to offer her – jewellery, fine dresses, the status of the wealthy Baroness von Trapp – none of it would have mattered to Maria. Out of love for him she would have tried to play along. And he was sure that Maria, with her quick intelligence, her sensitivity and her ingrown sense for style and propriety, would have made a perfect society lady. Yet it wouldn't really have mattered to her. What Maria really wanted, she'd received: A close-knit family, a home and a loving husband.

"You know you're the best thing what ever happened to me?" he whispered and kissed her. Maria wrapped her arms around him, kissed him back and let her fingers play over the neckline of his shirt. Georg, understanding what she wanted, broke the kiss and smiled down at her. "Do you intend to do anything that I should know about?"

Maria kissed his neck, rose up and went to the door. Turning the key, she looked at him. "Somehow I think the American Navy wants you rather urgently. So we can't afford to waste time – we still have to work at getting our dozen full, remember?"

* * *

Maria had been right: The American Navy had wanted Georg urgently and quickly. The night after Captain Soller's first visit to their New York home the von Trapps had held a family conference and once again, the children had surprised their father. Not one of them had complained about moving again. Even Louisa, who'd had to fight tears at the thought of losing her beloved horses, hadn't said something about.

Instead they'd all supported him, Liesl being the eldest, spoke for all of her siblings: "We'll miss you dreadfully, when you're away, but fighting the Nazis is your duty. We'll be very proud of you, father."

However, Georg's biggest surprise had come from Friedrich. The morning after the family conference he'd accompanied Georg to the stables and there he'd asked to ride out with his father. After a wonderful, refreshing canter in the cold winter air he'd looked at Georg. "Father, I don't want to stay back here with Liesl and Uncle Max."

"But you'll have to, Friedrich. I don't think you can continue your studies in Annapolis," Georg replied. Just a year before his oldest son had graduated from high school and gotten a scholarship as a piano player at the Julliard Academy of Music.

Friedrich shook his head. "Father, I don't want to continue just now. There's a war going on and it feels wrong for me to stay back here when all my friends are joining the Army. I talked to a recruiting officer last week. I want to join the naval academy at Annapolis."

For a moment Georg looked at his son as if he was seeing him for the first time – and in way he really was, registering for the first time that Friedrich wasn't the lanky, blond, always a bit dreamy boy who'd once come to America anymore. Although still blond and – as Maria pointed out at least once a week – too thin, Friedrich had become a man and, as his proud father noticed, even a handsome one. He was even taller than Georg and sitting ram road straight on a grey stallion, he looked like a determined adult.

Nevertheless Georg didn't want to just agree to such an important decision without adding his thoughts to it. Bringing his horse closer to Friedrich, he reached over and briefly squeezed his son's shoulder. "Friedrich, you don't need to become a naval officer."

"You are one and so was your father," Friedrich answered simply.

Georg shook his head. "I didn't become in order to follow a family tradition. I did it because I love the sea and knew I'd become a good sailor."

"Do you doubt I'd be a good sailor?" There was a hint of aggression in Friedrich's voice.

"Certainly not," Georg replied firmly. "I'm convinced that all of my children can become great at anything they set their minds to."

"Then you doubt I'm brave enough?" The young man's voice had become quiet and flat.

"Friedrich! What could make me doubt your courage?" Georg smiled reassuringly at him. "Do you remember our last night in Austria? When I decided in Nonnberg Abbey that we'd escape on foot over the mountains, you were the one who said you children would manage. Have I never told you how terribly proud I was of you in that moment? And later, during our journey over the mountains, you supported your younger siblings and looked after them which showed me that you were becoming a man, and one I'd always be proud of."

"Actually …" Friedrich played with his stallion's mane. Without looking at Georg, he whispered: "I was afraid. And as that Rolf threatened you with his gun … I was scared stiff. I only wanted to run away and yet you went towards him, faced him and talked to him! Father, I could never have done that!"

"Friedrich!" Georg said in his sternest captain voice. "Look at me! Do you really believe I wasn't scared as well? Do you really believe I didn't want too run away as well? It's a normal human instinct to flee when you're in danger – and I'm certainly not a hero, but a normal human being, just like you."

"But you didn't run away!" Friedrich almost cried.

"No, I didn't," Georg agreed. "But there's a difference between you and me that you are overlooking: I was an adult while you were still a boy. Besides I was trained for such situations. I spent three years at a naval academy where I was trained for combat. And then I fought four years in a war. I learnt to suppress fear and to face danger."

"Therefore you don't fear anymore?" Friedrich asked quietly.

Georg shook his head again. "I don't think one could or should learn to become fearless. Fear is important – it makes you quick on your feet. Fear can save your life and whoever maintains he isn't afraid when facing a loaded gun is either an idiot or a liar."

"I want to learn how to deal with fear," Friedrich said. "Besides, I think it's my duty to fight against the Nazis too. How could I sit around here, playing piano while my father and my friends risk their lives by freeing Europe from tyranny? Father, since we left home, I've wanted to do something to get our country back! You're not the only Austrian patriot in this family. I do want to perform in Salzburg one day, and proudly see a red and white flag!"

"Well," Georg smiled at his son, "it seems we both will have to serve under the American flag for a little while in order to be able to get back home to our beloved red and white one."

"So you'll allow me to join the naval academy?" Friedrich wanted it confirmed.

"Yes, Friedrich. If you want to, you may join the navy." Georg took the reins of his stallion up. "And now let's go back to the stables – I must talk with Alois. He certainly won't like that I'm going away."

"Just one more moment, please." Friedrich looked awkward. "Father, since I'm leaving Julliard you'll loan some money, won't you? I mean, despite my scholarship you still had to pay for some money for me and if I would were going to stay in New York I would have still have needed some money."

"Yes," Georg nodded. "You want to get the money as an allowance during your time on the naval academy? They're not very generous with their cadets, are they?"

"I think what I get will suffice," Friedrich said. "I really don't need an allowance from you while I'm there. But … I mean, it's up to you what you do with your money, of course …" He started to stammer.

"What do you want me to do with this money that you apparently don't need?" Georg asked kindly.

"Well, it's about Louisa, father. Moving to Annapolis will be hardest for her and so I thought…" Friedrich blushed. "I mean, couldn't you get her a horse? A young, raw one? There are certainly stables around Annapolis too …"

"Actually I asked the officer who recruited me to look for a farm house to rent – with a stable and a nice meadow," Georg interrupted his stammering son with a smile. "That's why I want to speak with Alois too. I intend to persuade him to let me Conversano Theokratia. He's too sensitive to be a good school horse, but Louisa does well with him and she can learn a lot from him. By riding him she'll eventually be able to train a young horse for herself in a few years. Although," he clapped the neck of Pluto Bona he was sitting on, "I'm going to miss this boy."

In the end, Georg got both horses, Conversano Theokratia and Pluto Bona. Alois, though certainly not happy about losing his partner but understanding why Georg wanted to join the American navy, he had insisted on giving Conversano Theokratia to Louisa and had sold Pluto Bona to Georg for very little money, saying: "After the war, I really want to start breeding. Until then you'll have taught Pluto Bona the schools over the earth and you'll lend him me for my mares."

* * *

Two days after Christmas, Georg packed and went gone to Annapolis where he met Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester for the first time. As different as both men were – the Admiral almost a caricature of an old sea bear with his beard, bald head and the cigar – they'd gotten along immediately, noticing and appreciating the other's experience and competence at once.

The only thing Georg felt a bit uncomfortable about was the fact that the Admiral obviously had decided to spoil his new protégé too the fullest. He'd looked at the houses Captain Soller had suggested himself, declining every single one of them as "too small" or "not nice" enough until Captain Soller had found a rather big, old farmhouse with a lot of land around. Standing there on the porch the Admiral had lit a cigar and announced: "Some Europeans think we don't know how to live as both an officer and gentleman. And they're right! It's time we get someone in the staff who'll show us!"

Maria was delighted with the new house. She'd always dreamed of having a garden and it had a lovely one. Now she was already knee deep in garden catalogues, planning what she would plant in spring. She'd also adopted two kittens, telling Georg that one needed cats when living in a farmhouse. The only problem was that Fritz, the tomcat, had fallen in love with Georg or, to be more accurate, with his uniform. He used every opportunity to sneak in the master bedroom for a nap in Georg's closet – and he'd become a masterful at opening doors for himself.

The uniform – actually Georg had been amazed how easy it had been to become accustomed to it again. Of course, the American uniforms were a lot more comfortable than the rather pompous ones he'd once worn as a Korvettenkapitän in the Austrian-Hungarian navy. On the other hand Georg had received a wide variety of uniforms that he'd found overwhelming in the first days: Winter blue, summer beige, summer white with long sleeves and trousers, summer white with short sleeves and shorts – a uniform Georg hoped he wouldn't need to wear often because he found he looked like a school boy in it -, dress blue, dress white and gala with a short dinner jacket – he'd needed almost three days to sort out what belonged to what, but then he'd started to enjoy wearing a uniform again. He'd always found it practical: One didn't need to think about matching shirts, ties, socks and shoes and was nevertheless always properly dressed.

Only the awards had been a problem – for Admiral Forrester. As Georg had appeared in uniform – without any of his ribbons because he'd left his collection back in Austria – the Admiral had almost fainted.

"You've been honoured with the highest order of your country – why aren't you wearing it?" he'd asked.

"Because I don't have the ribbon with me," Georg had simply answered. "Besides I doubt someone would be able to recognize my Austrian ribbons here."

"Wrong, young man!" the Admiral had snorted. "I want you to wear your ribbons – and I assure you: They'll be recognized!"

"Sir, with all due respect: I doubt I can get Austrian orders and ribbons here," Georg had said. "Besides I didn't only let the orders back, but the papers which belong to them too. I couldn't even prove I've really got my captain's patent."

"You're underestimating us, Captain. Our intelligence has a nice folder about you," the Admiral had grinned. "You'll get your orders and ribbons! I'll look after it myself!"

Indeed, three days later a young Marine sergeant had presented himself at the door of the hotel room Georg had been staying until his family moved. He'd carried a flat, wooden box. "Courtesy of Admiral Forrester, sir: your orders and ribbons. And as your new orderly and driver I'm supposed to help you with them, sir."

The Admiral had really provided Georg with all of the ribbons he'd ever earned in Austria which had made for four rows of awards. Seeing them on Georg's chest, the old sailor had rubbed his hands together in glee. "Now it's right! Now I can present you properly!" Then he'd explained Georg what he'd do in the next weeks: "First you'll get a proper schooling in the new technology – that is what you'll do in the mornings. In the afternoons you'll teach us about the Mediterranean. In February I'm to set my flag on the USS Carrier Ship George Washington which is heading to Gibraltar just now. We'll get you a submarine then. You're to become a force in my fleet."

Living in a port, surrounded by ships and sailors actually made Georg long to get back to the sea himself. He just didn't have much time to think about. One week into the new year the truck with the family's belonging had arrived. Georg, who'd always hated staying in a hotel, had spent the first night in his new home on a sofa, surrounded by boxes and furniture. In the morning – Georg had just gotten himself an instant coffee which he drank with disgust – the Admiral's black car had approached and the sturdy old man had jumped out and stormed up the stairs: "I forgot to tell you that we have an early appointment, Captain. Are you ready?"

Georg, by now already used on the tempo of his superior, had gripped his jacket and cover, binding his tie while walking out, joining the Admiral in the car. They talked about this and that until the car drove through a big iron gate into a park. The Admiral grinned. "You don't have a clue where we are, Captain?"

"Absolutely not, sir," Georg answered truthfully, looking at a big white hall with the flag on a pole in front of it.

The Admiral chuckled. "If someone would have told me that someday I'd bring an officer here who doesn't know this place …" Leaving the car with Georg, he saluted the flag and had Georg follow him into a big hall where around fifty young men in simple blue uniforms were waiting around a stage.

On the stage a huge, black sergeant yelled: "Attention! Admiral on deck!"

Georg didn't needed the Admiral to point out the tall, blond who stood in the first row at the left side, his blue eyes beaming with pride. Seeing him, Georg lost for one moment his military stance, grinning broadly at his son.

Nevertheless the Admiral managed to surprise him. After the national anthem and the usual speeches Georg, as a guest of honour sitting among other officers on the stage, suddenly heard the sergeant: "Captain Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp, Cadet Friedrich James Ritter von Trapp at the front!"

The Admiral had gotten up and stood in front of the flag, waving Georg and Friedrich to him. "As a special honour to the Academy Class of 1941 we're to take up a new member in our ranks today. Captain Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp, are you ready to pledge your allegiance to the United States of America and its navy?"

Standing at attention, Georg replied his "Yes, sir!" And out of the corner of his eyes he saw how his son blushed with pride as he listened to his father swear his oath and become an honorary member of the Academy Class of 1941.

* * *

The next evening father and son welcomed the rest of the family at the airport and showed them to their new home. However, since then Georg hadn't seen much of his family. The Admiral had ordered a young engineer to get Georg familiar with all important new developments in the submarine techniques as soon as possible. Lieutenant Commander Hendricks took this task seriously. He filled Georg's office with piles of plans and books and spent every morning instructing Georg in them. Luckily Georg had always been pretty good in engineering himself and despite of the fact that he had not come close to a ship in ages, he'd always kept himself up to date.

Nevertheless it was a lot to learn and read, and his morning studies would have been enough by themselves. Georg also spent almost every night in his new study, working until he fell asleep at his desk. It had become quite usual that Maria would come down to him around midnight, taking his book away and telling him: "Come to bed, Georg – even you can't learn all the changes in the last twenty years in just one month!"

And then the afternoon part of his job was no less demanding. The material the Americans had collected about the Mediterranean really wasn't good, and even the information from the English colleagues wouldn't be much help because they knew little to nothing about the coast around Croatia. Georg could help out there – he hadn't only spent the first years of his life in a Croatian port, but all his holidays after that. He knew every cove from Rijeka to Split and for him it wasn't a problem to make find them on the photographs taken from the air. He even could made out certain changes in the little ports on the coast and so it was he who discovered that one of those little ports was obviously being used as a submarine bunker –information even intelligence hadn't known about.

The Admiral had, in every case, been delighted with what his new protégé discovered. He'd clapped Georg's shoulders and loudly roared: "That's why I wanted you, Captain! I knew your knowledge of this bloody coast would help us!" And after Georg had left his office, the Admiral had called his superior: "I told you, Dan, this Austrian is worth every penny we pay for him! But now let's get him a ship as soon as possible! The man's wasted in an office – we need him out there! He'll give the Germans submarine a run for their money!"

To be continued


	8. Chapter 8

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Beta-ing for me is a lot of work and in the moment my first beta, dear Heidi, is very busy with real life. Luckily Trapper helped out with this chapter (and perhaps the next? I'd be very grateful). Thanks to her! 

And all mistakes you find are still mine. ;-)

_**Chapter 8: USS Liberty **_

Spring 1942

"Poor darling!" Patricia Forrester, spouse of Admiral Charles Forrester and called "Pittypat" by all her friends, patted Maria's hand. "The first time is the hardest! I remember very well how bad I felt when my Charlie went out. However, I can assure you: You'll get used to it."

"And one day," Beverly Soller chuckled, "one day, my dear, mark my words, you won't even mind much anymore. You'll come to enjoy the freedom it gives you. Of course, you still have all these children around …"

"Actually I'm glad I have the children," Maria said, sipping at her tea. "Without them I wouldn't know what to do in the big, empty house."

"Oh, don't you worry!" Cynthia Bowman, wife of another captain in Admiral Forrester's fleet, chuckled. "When my youngest daughter got married I sat for two weeks in her empty room, holding her teddy bear and crying. However, I discovered then that a woman can have a lot of fun in Annapolis."

Patricia Forrester poured fresh tea in Maria's cup and offered her another piece of cake. "Our men believe Annapolis is a sailors' town where everything revolves around our brave heroes." She laughed. "If only they knew how wrong they are! Annapolis is a woman's town! With our men mostly out at sea, we women run the town. We have our clubs and circles where we meet and we have fun together, organizing excursions and picnics and whatever. You'll see: You certainly won't become bored here without your husband." Smiling at the four ladies around her, she asked: "What about a nice cherry liquor with your tea? My husband always says one shouldn't drink too much water without anything substantial in it."

"Besides in weather like that," Beverly Soller pointed to the big window looking out on the rainy sea, "one needs something warming." She turned to Maria. "Pittypat is right about Annapolis. And you know, one of its advantages is that we always have handsome young men to look at."

"Yes, the Academy is full of them!" laughed Patricia Forrester.

"I have a son there," Maria said. As much as she appreciated the kindness of the women who'd invited her, she felt a bit overwhelmed by their frankness. She'd always thought that the wives of high-ranking officers would be rather stiff, but now she learned that they weren't much different than the women she'd met in the parish in New York. Of course, their houses and dresses were more sophisticated and they had servants and more free time, but they loved to chatter and to gossip too and though they tried to show brave faces – Maria felt that they worried about their husbands and sons too.

Cynthia Bowman had gotten a glass with liquor and sipped at it. With a sly grin she said: "Girls, I think dear Maria doesn't even look at the handsome cadets and lieutenants around. She's still too much in love with her husband – and who could blame her? If we had an Annapolis officers' beauty contest, Maria's captain would probably come out as the winner."

"Closely followed by his son!" Beverly Soller laughed. "You should have seen it last week at the dance at the Country Club. Young Sarah Levenford and the Bridgeman girl were almost fighting over him. Maria, you'll have to watch out for that boy – all the girls in Annapolis and a few women are already after him like bears after a honeypot."

Maria had eaten another piece of cake. Putting her fork back on the dish, she smiled. "There's no reason to worry. Friedrich already has a very nice girlfriend in New York and, with him being his father's son, I wouldn't wonder if he married her after he's done with the Academy. The von Trapp men seem to have a tendency to stick to their first loves."

Patricia Forrester raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me my curiosity, but aren't you your husband's second wife?"

Maria nodded. "Yes, I am. My husband lost his first wife shortly after our seventh child, Gretl, was born. She died of scarlet fever. Four years later we met and I became his second wife."

"I've become even more curious now: How did you meet your husband, if I may ask?" Patricia Forrester looked at Maria, her brown eyes warm and motherly. "With your husband it's quite difficult to guess his age, but I think he's a few years your senior, isn't he?"

Maria leaned back. She didn't mind the questions because she felt that they weren't born from vulgar curiosity, but genuine interest. "I'm twenty five years my husband's junior." She smiled. "A few people back in our homeland thought our marriage quite a scandal – and not only for the age gap between us, but because I actually had wanted to become a nun."

"A nun? You?" Beverly Soller obviously couldn't believe it. "I can't imagine! From the first moment I saw you I thought you were the ideal mother to an entire flock of children!"

"Well, I've always liked children. I even got an education as a teacher before I joined the convent of the Holy Sistership of Saint Benedict in Nonnberg, Salzburg. I was a postulant there – that's someone who wants to become a novice – when one summer day in 1937 the Reverend Mother sent me as a governess to the seven motherless von Trapp children."

"And then you fell in love with their handsome father? How romantic!" Cynthia Bowman sighed.

"I can't imagine it was so easy," Patricia Forrester said thoughtfully. "A widower with seven children, twenty-five years your senior – it took guts to marry him!"

"Actually I didn't think much about that," Maria answered. "As I first recognized what I felt for him, I was so scared I ran away to the abbey. And I think my husband got a bit scared too – unlike me, he was considering not only the age gap, but the differences in our upbringing too. After my escape to the abbey he got engaged to a long-time friend, a very beautiful, rich baroness."

"Oh, you poor girl! It must have been horrible for you," Cynthia Bowman cried.

"It was quite a shock," Maria admitted. "I was sent back from the abbey by the Reverend Mother to figure out my feelings – and there the man I was in love with stood with his lovely fiancée and I had to congratulate them on their engagement. Luckily it didn't last long – only a few hours after I returned he broke off his engagement and proposed to me."

"And then you came here with him and the children," Patricia Forrester said. "My Charlie mentioned that your first months here were very hard."

Maria shrugged her shoulders. "We didn't have much money – the Nazis froze Georg's bank accounts – and we lived in a very small flat. It was hard, especially on my husband. He worked at the docks, was terribly homesick and worried all the time about the children's education. But we've made it. Our oldest is almost done with her education now – she's at the Juilliard Academy of music, will become a singer and has already done a few concerts. She will certainly make her way. Friedrich is now at the Naval Academy – actually he was at Juilliard too to become a pianist. Louisa will graduate this year and wants to become a vet. Then, in two years, Kurt will start college – he wants to become an engineer."

"You've got nine children, haven't you?" Cynthia Bowman asked.

"Well," Maria hesitated a moment with her answer, laying her hand over her belly. "I'm not entirely sure yet …"

"You're expecting another little one? How wonderful! Did you already see a doctor?" Patricia Forrester asked.

"No," Maria admitted with a blush. "I'm not used to doing that without my husband. You know, with the two other babies it was always him who noticed before me."

"One should think that a father of so many children knows something about pregnant women!" Beverly Soller laughed. "My Ron wouldn't have noticed my pregnancies until I went into labour."

"Be glad about that!" Patricia Forrester sighed. "When I was pregnant with our Lily, we were stationed in Chesapeake Bay and Charlie was at home. He got himself a handbook called 'Your first baby' and he really got on my nerves—aalways telling me what to do and what to eat. And then our little one decided to come one month too early. You can't imagine my husband's reaction! When I told him he would need to get the doctor, he looked almost offended and told me I couldn't give birth yet. 'I'm only through my book to the eight month!"

The women laughed, but Maria soon became serious again. Quietly she said, "I must admit I can't imagine going through a pregnancy without having my husband at my side and with worrying all the time about him."

Patricia Forrester shifted a bit closer and took Maria's hand. "Darling, I can imagine how hard it is for you, but you really mustn't worry so much. For the next six weeks the Liberty is in training. Your husband and his men aren't alone out there. And even afterwards – the Liberty isn't supposed to fight. It will stay hidden, watching and collecting information. My Charlie says your husband is one of the most experienced submarine captains out there – he wouldn't only know every trick in the book, he would have invented a few himself."

"And as far as you are concerned, Maria," Beverly Soller had come closer too, "you're not alone. You have your children and you have us. We'll look after you. You can call me whenever you need someone to talk to and I'll come visit you."

"And so will I!" assured Patricia Forrester. "Besides, being married to an Admiral has some advantages. You know, rank has its privileges – and one is that my letters to my husband are transported faster than the normal post. Just give me your letters to your husband – I'll make sure he gets them as soon as possible."

The afternoon with the three women had been nicer than Maria had imagined when she'd gotten the invitation. She felt as if she'd really acquired friends. Patricia Forrester's almost motherly affection had especially been a comfort.

Nevertheless she couldn't help feeling lonely as she sat down at Georg's desk that same night. The younger children were in bed, finally sleeping, but getting Barbara to sleep had been quite a task. She hadn't understood why her daddy didn't come to tell her a bedtime story and had cried for him. Even Kurt, her favourite brother, hadn't been able to distract her. Barbara had wanted her father – and she'd wanted him now!

Maria had actually felt like joining her youngest in crying. It was only four days since Georg had left, but to her it felt already like an eternity. Wrapping Georg's dressing gown tighter around her – his smell clung to it and gave her at least the illusion of having him near – she closed her eyes. 

Four days earlier she'd accompanied him to the port where she'd seen his submarine, the USS Liberty, for the first time. It had been docked next to a big, old battleship and to Maria it had looked tiny. She knew – Georg had swooned over the Liberty like a boy over a new toy – that the submarine was the newest in the US Navy and that it was, as far as submarines went, rather big. Besides, she'd learned that the USS Liberty could operate independently for at least six weeks – "even eight or more when you spare fuel and water" – and that she could dive for three days and deeper than every other submarine. Maria had been informed that the USS Liberty had strong engines, making her quick and quiet. And yes, her beloved husband had even assured her that submarines were safer than other ships. "When the sea becomes too rough, we simply dive – and as soon as you're down a few feet, you don't notice the storm anymore. Under water it is always calm."

"Only there are other submarines hunting you!" Maria had shuddered.

"We'll hear the Germans before they hear us – their engines make an awful racket. And we've even got better passive systems – we can watch them for days without them even guessing we're close."

As much as Maria trusted him – the thought of Georg out there at sea, protected only by a steel tube ... What loving wife would like that?

And then the sight of him and his men, standing on the hull of their ship – the sea had been rough and the waves had almost reached their feet. Maria had immediately started to worry about Georg catching a cold – and who would look after him then? Who'd make tea for him and who would massage his back? Living in such a tiny cylinder where he needed to bend his head all the time certainly wouldn't be good for his back! 

The flags had been raised on the tower of the USS Liberty. The Stars and Stripes had snapped proudly in the wind, and over it a small Austrian flag – honouring the commander of the ship – had appeared. Someone had blown a whistle, and then a band on the old battleship had played the national anthem. Maria, her right hand over her heart, had watched how her husband, hand at his cover, had greeted the flag. Then his eyes had searched for hers and for a brief second he'd smiled at her before he'd turned around, climbing up to his place of command at the tower. She'd watched how two small ships had manoeuvred the submarine out of the harbour and how it had disappeared quickly, a grey shadow melting into the grey sea.

Next to her a young woman, very pregnant, had sobbed in the arms of a friend. Maria had felt like crying too, but she'd known that Georg expected her to show courage, so she'd smiled reassuringly at the young woman.

But now, at home, she allowed herself a few tears, looking at the picture of Georg she'd put on the desk just the other night. It showed him on Conversano Theokratia, his hair – and by now his temples had become entirely grey – a bit tussled and his smile making him look boyish. In her mind she recalled his voice as he'd spoken to her that last morning: "I trust you, Maria, to be trong and brave and to keep our family ship afloat. You will laugh and sing with the children and you won't worry too much about me. I'll come back to you – I promise."

He'd never broken a promise to her. He would come back. Until then she would think of him and write to him – every evening at least a few lines, as she'd promised him. So she pulled a sheet of paper and her pen out of the drawer and started.

"_Annapolis, March 23, 1942_

_My beloved Georg,_

_The children are in bed and I'm sitting at your desk with the kittens keeping me company and keeping my feet warm. The weather is still fairly awful and I wonder how it is out there, wherever you are. It's odd that I don't even know what your room – or whatever one calls it on a submarine – looks like. I imagine it's not really nice, but knowing you I don't think you mind too much. You're probably so focused on your work that you don't find time to notice your surroundings."_

She stopped writing, chewing on her pen for a moment. She wanted to tell him about feeling pregnant again, but - well, she wasn't sure about yet and she didn't want to create false hope. She'd soon see a doctor and then she'd tell Georg. Until then she'd speak about the children they already had. So taking up the pen again, she proceeded:

"_We all miss you dreadfully, even Max though he'd never admit it. Just today I got a letter from him in which he told me that he's gotten Liesl a job in the choir of the Metropolitan opera. And Max, being Max, promptly added: 'Even Georg can't complain about that, can he? As long as he hasn't got a wealthy prince to marry her on the spot, he'll need to live with her being a singer. And singers sing in public! It's their way of earning a living, even when they're the daughter of the noble Georg v. T.' I wrote him back that you'd be proud of your daughter whatever she does._

_And talking about being proud of your youngsters, dear captain: Johannes is working on a letter to his father – he wants to send you the painting he did of your ship. Louisa in the meantime hasn't time to write herself, but asked me to tell you that she's a) got a top grade in mathematics and b) managed to ride a piaffe on Conversano Theokratia all by herself. I don't know which achievement makes her prouder, but I praised her for both. _

_Brigitta has found a new friend and a job: Miss Erichs, the nice old librarian at the Academy, has taken quite a liking to her and offered her the job of sorting books twice a week after school. You can imagine how happy our bookworm is about that. And knowing her I'd say she'll spend probably all the money she earns on new books. She obviously intends to surpass your collection as soon as possible._

_Kurt thinks that rather stupid. He still isn't interested in books, but has developed a few new plans about engines. His room looks like a garage and if I hadn't stopped him he'd certainly have used your absence to take apart the car. He's only waiting for me to have trouble with it the next time. He also wonders why his father commands such technically advanced submarines, but still drives – and I quote him – such a "lousy, shabby old car." _

_Luckily Marta and Gretl don't bother about cars. Instead Marta has discovered that grooming horses can be fun, especially when the horses have long manes like ours do. Your daughters aren't too happy with Pluto Bona, however. He's too impatient for their liking. Today he ran away after they'd tried – for only around an hour – a new way to braid his mane. Conversano Theokratia had to bear the next attempt. I think his really quite admirable patience was principally purchased by the girls feeding him all apples and carrots they could find._

_Barbara was happy about that. Every carrot Conversano Theokratia or Pluto Bona has is one she doesn't have to eat.She must have inherited her dislike of vegetables from you! I think she'd like to see if she could feed the horses her spinach too – it would be such a good way to get rid of it. Other than that she was rather fussy tonight. She misses your bedtime stories and can't understand why you're not with her._

_As for me: I understand – but that doesn't make it easier. I miss you so much, Georg! Your empty place at the table, the empty space in our bed – last night I fell asleep hugging your pillow, but it's really a bad substitute for you. I have already started to count the days until you come back. The onlyproblem is that I don't know when you'll come back. So I listen to what the other women say about how long their husbands were out last time. The longest time I've heard about was nine months – but I do hope you won't be away for so long._

_However, the most important thing is that you come home safe and sound. I'll wait for you however long it takes._

_Your loving wife,_

_Maria."_

* * *

Captain Georg von Trapp to his wife Maria

USS Liberty, March 27, 1942

_Maria, my dearest love,_

_Forgive me for sending such a short note last week, but the first days on a new boat are always rather hectic and I didn't get the solitude I need for writing. Besides I'd hardly have found any space to sit down with pen and paper. After we left port I had to wonder if the Naval department had made a mistake and mistaken us for a frigate. The provisions they'd sent us – starting with ammunition and not ending with food and beverages – was so plentiful we thought we would never get it stored properly. Even today the poor boys living in the torpedo room long for us to fire at least three torpedoes because they're currently stored under their floor board, making the living space impossibly small. Whenever I go in there, I think of Friedrich and that he should never try to serve on a submarine. Tall as he is, he would really suffer in the crowded torpedo room – and that's where our ensigns sleep too._

_Overly crowded rooms aren't a problem I have to worry about. I'm the only one here who has a cabin of his own – rank has its privileges and I would be lying if I claimed I'm not enjoying them – though the word "cabin" actually suggests something more spacious. My chamber is approximately as big as our closet. It contains my bunk – a rather small affair which is secured against the wall every morning (which reminds me of Ensign Seelman, our youngest, fresh from the Academy. He wondered where he would be able to air out his bed in the morning. told him he should try it on the tower. You should have seen the faces on the bridge as he appeared there with his pillow and blanket!). Under my bunk is my desk – just as big as two sheets of paper – a few drawers, a little closet for the code books and other papers, another one for my personal things – that's it. And because it's so small in there, I'm now sitting in the officers' mess – which sounds bigger than it is too, because in our case the officers' mess is simply the hallway between the bridge and the engine room. There are two rows of bunks on each side, and the lower row is used for sitting during the day. Which means that right above me Lieutenant Smith, who just got off sentry duty, is now snoring. And I can tell you: He could even outsnore Kurt! _

_The table between the bunks can also be folded and secured against the wall, but we'd only do so when on battle alert. Normally it's used for eating, writing, working, and playing cards, and sitting here one always gets the nicest smell on the boat: The kitchen is only a few feet away and so I'm just now watching how Miller II, our cook, prepares the next meal._

_As far as meals are concerned you mustn't worry, but the horses probably should. We get six meals a day, starting with steaks for breakfast and stew around midnight. The boys in the kitchen are performing wonders, but with me not moving much (climbing up the tower a few times a day doesn't really count as exercise, I'm afraid) you'll get a fat husband back._

"_Back" – that's the word I actually don't want to think about because it makes me aware that I've gotten too accustomed to the comfortable life one lives at home. It's not that I miss the house or the space one gets there. If I want space I get it in spades by looking out at the sea. It's the children and you I miss, the feeling of "togetherness" one gets at home even when working alone in one's study. _

_Over the days I hardly come to think about home. The Liberty is new and we're not yet familiar with her, so we're doing drills all day and often during the nights too. There's always something one needs to look after or to talk about, there are still a lot of things which need improvement (the engineers on the shipyard will hate Turner and me when we come back to them with a huge list of changes we want implemented). I must admit that I love what we're doing here. The Liberty really is a marvel and her technology is a delight. I love it and the boys on the bridge probably think me a bit crazy now because I can't stop playing with the periscope. But they were never on a boat with a fixed periscope, so they don't understand how nice it is to get the thing up without moving the entire boat. _

_But back on the subject – I know only too well that periscopes and diesel engines aren't something you're interesting in, my darling. During the nights I miss you. In the quiet hours after midnight – and yes, I'm often up on the command bridge in the tower then. We're checking our diesel engines on full speed and I really wouldn't want to bump in a fishing boat – I find myself thinking of home, wondering what the little ones are doing, hoping Barbara won't give you too difficult a time with her teething and that Johannes doessn't always have his head in the clouds – a trait he certainly didn't inherit from me! And then, when I'm going to sleep – must I tell you how much I miss you then? Your quiet breathing, the funny little sighs you sometimes make during one of your dreams – the music of my nights and as beloved as the music you make during the day. You know I even start to miss your cold feet and the way you always try to steal my blanket when you've kicked yours off. Sometimes when sleep eludes me, I turn around and look at your picture at the wall. Closing my eyes, I think of all the glorious moments we've had together; starting with Franz coming into my study and announcing with a voice like one out of a tomb: "The new governess has arrived." I think of how I went out, expecting to see a stout, elderly nun and instead encountered you with your hilarious hat and the dress the poor didn't want. If someone had prophesied at that moment that you would become my Maria, my wife, my comrade, my best friend, my lover – I would have laughed at him. _

_To think that it was only three hours later that it happened! You sat down on the infamous pine cone (and yes, my darling, I knew about it. As little as I was home around that dreary time – the children's tricks were hard to miss. Besides I must confess that it always gave me a fiendish delight to watch how the governesses reacted to them). The light from the candles made your hair look like gold and there was your lovely face – for a moment I couldn't breathe; I could only stare at you._

_Later that evening – oh Maria! Did you really believe I didn't know what Liesl had been up to? It had been me who'd locked the door, waiting for her to ring. I'd even heard her climbing up – that was why I came to the children's rooms (really, Maria,visiting the governess' bedroom had never before been on my agenda. The thought alone of seeing Fräulein Helga in her nightshirt would have been enough to give me nightmares!). _

_I was a horrible father at the time, wasn't I? I'd lost my way with the children. As much as I've always loved them, I really didn't know how to deal with them any more. I knew they needed comfort, but how could I have given it to them, feeling lost and miserable myself?_

_What would have become of us without you? Sooner or later I would have lost my children's love. I would have sent them away to boarding schools, telling myself it was the proper thing to do. They would have become strangers._

_You saved us, Maria. You saved me from an empty, meaningless life. You brought music, laughter and love back to me. And even now, a thousand miles away from you, out on a lonely sea, I feel how you warm my heart. I love you, Maria. _

_Yours – with all my faults and follies, Georg"_

* * *

Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester to his wife Patricia Forrester

USS George Washington, April 2, 1942

_Dear Pittypat,_

_how often did I tell you that I'm not the mailman for your friends' husbands? Anyway, in this special case you were right to send me the letters for Captain v. Trapp. He and his lovely wife deserve an exception from the rule, especially when one considers that the poor girl was never separated from him for so long before. Only I can't promise to get the letters to him in the next three days because at the moment I don't have the slightest clue where he and the Liberty are. It makes me as mad as a wet hen, but here we go: Von Trapp is toying with my entire fleet. We're playing – for the second time – a game of "hide and seek," with the Liberty being the submarine the rest of the fleet is searching for._

_Of course, it's von Trapp's job to hide as well as possible – but it's rather galling when seven ships searching for him can't find him. It makes me feel like I command a bunch of idiots when I hear for the umpteenth time: "Unfortunately we still don't have a clue where the Liberty could be."_

_It was bad enough the first time. For 48 hours all my ships were searching for the Liberty, which had been given a two hours' headstart. They couldn't find her. She seemed to have disappeared so completely that I already started to wonder about von Trapp going against his order, leaving the zone where we searched for him. _

_Exactly at the end of the allotted time, sonar announced: "Submarine coming up" – and lo and behold, it was von Trapp, only half a mile away from us and signalling boldly: "Manoeuvre done". Soller and Pierson looked as if they'd like to torpedo him, while I almost suffered a cardiac infarction as von Trapp explained to us that he'd been close all the time. He'd used the noises our engines were making to mask his own. And his log proved that the bastard could have hit us with at least five torpedos at a time! _

_Just imagine that: The so-called "elite" of our navy spent 48 hours searching for a submarine that, the whole time, was in the wake of the leading ship! Von Trapp and his men probably laughed their tails off about that._

_And now he's obviously doing something similar again. Yesterday we began another three-day exercise and Pierson is already walking his bridge like a caged tiger because von Trapp and the Liberty have disappeared again. Pierson's got every sonar buoy out he's got, but I'm sure Von Trapp doesn't use the same trick twice. The man is a fox and he proves what I'm always preaching: Nothing compares to real wartime experience. Of course, von Trapp's actually a bit old for the job he's doing. It will take a bigger toll on him than it would on a younger man. However, we need his experience. Even if he does no more for us than play target during exercises, the schooling effect for our boys is already worth what we're paying him._

_Only I'm afraid he'll have to do more. The situation in the Mediterranean is becoming worse every day. The Tommies are on edge and so is SecNav. I'll have to send the Liberty back to the shipyard next week to get her ready for combat. She actually needs a few more tests and checks, but I can't help it. I need von Trapp where the action is. But first he'll make it home for a few days, and I hope this will satisfy you too …_

* * *

Seven steps to the left, seven steps to the right, turn – Georg couldn't count how many times he'd walked the hospital corridor in the last hour. There, behind the shabby door, was Maria, and he needed to fight against the temptation to storm in and to yell at the doctors. Why did they need so long? And why wasn't he allowed to be with his wife? Whatever Maria had to go through, she certainly would feel better with him at her side! Yet this nurse had kicked him out, sentencing him to pace a hallway while Maria – heavens, he knew she needed him! Besides: Wasn't he part of what happened in there? It wasn't only his wife who was in danger, but their baby too, flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone.

"Please, father!" Louisa had once more risen from the bench she was sitting on and tried to stop him, her small hand on his arm. "Don't worry so much! You know, mother's strong and so is the baby. "

He knew Louisa wanted to comfort him, so he forced himself to smile at her and to stroke her cheek before he took up his walk again. He couldn't remember when he'd last felt so absolutely miserable and he needed to move. Sitting still would have driven him entirely mad.

Only a few hours earlier, he'd thought himself a happy man. Three days ago the USS Liberty had docked in the shipyard and since then Georg had hardly rested for a moment. Instead he'd spent his time in conferences with the engineers, informing them about the changes his boat needed. And then, without even shaving or changing his uniform, he'd jumped into the car, which had brought him home – one day earlier than he'd been expected there.

He'd arrived a few minutes after seven, knowing that his family usually was at dinner around that time. However, his attempt to sneak in had failed. Maria obviously had heard the car and was coming towards him in the hall as he walked through the door.

"Georg!" She'd almost thrown herself in his arms and he'd kissed her regardless of his stubbly chin.

It had felt so good to hold her in his arms again, and for a moment he'd wished he could simply pick her up and carry her to their bedroom. However, Johannes had followed his mother and, discovering his father, he'd cried: "Papa!" 

And then the entire family had surrounded him, hugging and kissing and chattering. Georg had spent the next two hours catching up with his children, little Barbara all the time clinging to him as if she feared he'd disappear if she let go. Naturally, it had been him who told her a bedtime story that evening. Afterwards he'd accompanied Louisa to the horses, praising her for how good they looked before he went up to Kurt's room to see the wireless he'd made himself. 

A few minutes after ten he'd found himself in the shower, enjoying the clean water and the lavender soap – things he'd had to live without on his submarine. As he'd dried himself afterwards, he'd suddenly felt soft arms hugging him from behind. Maria had kissed the back of his neck, happily sighing. "It's good to have you home!"

He'd turned around, and looking down at her, he'd asked, "How are you, my love? You're looking a bit pale and tired."

Maria had smiled. "Yes, I probably am – and it's once again all your fault, Georg!"

"What did I do?"

"Oh, nothing I didn't want you to!" She'd looked mischievous. "And if you asked me to do it again, I wouldn't refuse - although I know that was how all the trouble began. And this time I'm suffering from morning sickness!"

"You're pregnant, my darling?" He'd felt like dancing for joy.

"Yes, yes and yes, Georg! And you know it's rather nice that I noticed it before you for once!" Maria had hugged him again, and kissing his jaw she'd whispered: "You remember, a pregnant woman needs a lot of love and tenderness …"

He'd swept her up in his arms and had carried her to their bed where they'd made love – first quickly and passionately and then, for a second time, tenderly and slowly.

He'd fallen asleep almost immediately afterwards, holding her against him, feeling content and happy. 

Three hours later she'd woken him up, her voice small and full of fear: "Georg, I don't feel well. And I'm bleeding!"

He'd called the doctor who had come immediately, looking rather anxious. "I'm afraid I can't help your wife here. We must get her to the hospital."

He'd gone to wake Louisa and Kurt, now the oldest children in the house. Louisa had insisted on coming with him while Kurt had promised to look after his younger siblings until Susan, who had moved to Annapolis with the family, arrived in the morning.

Now the door of the emergency room opened. A nurse was pushing a bed out. Georg stormed towards it, looking down on a very pale Maria who was quietly crying. "Georg!" She reached for his hand, but he could squeeze it only briefly because the doctor had appeared also.

"Captain von Trapp? Would you please join me in my office for a moment?"

"Yes, of course." Georg tried to smile at Maria. "I'll be with you in a minute, darling. Louisa?"

"Yes, I'm going with mother!"

As Georg followed the doctor to his office, he felt old and tired. He didn't need to be told that Maria had lost the child – her eyes had shown that clearly enough.

"Have a chair, captain. Would you like a cup of coffee?" the doctor asked, sitting down behind his desk.

"Thank you, but no. How is my wife?" Georg sat down, looking expectantly and anxiously at the grey-haired man opposite him.

He sighed. "Well – she lost the child."

"I was already afraid so." Georg felt like crying. Although he'd only known about the baby for a few hours, he'd already started to look forward to it. 

The doctor breathed deeply and braced his hands on his desk. "Captain, I can't explain what happened to the baby. Your wife is young and healthy, but even with young and healthy women sometimes pregnancies end prematurely. Actually we suppose it's even 60 percent of all pregnancies – only most of the time the mothers don't know already that they were pregnant."

Georg fixed a point at the wall above the doctor's head. "I'm afraid I know what happened." He felt that he was blushing and cursed himself for it. "I was making love to my wife and I'm afraid I wasn't cautious enough." Had he ever before felt so embarrassed and wretched?

"Oh." The doctor leaned back. "Captain von Trapp, you're an experienced man and already father of two children …"

"Nine," Georg corrected him tiredly. "I have two with my present wife and seven from my first wife."

The doctor showed a little smile. "Captain, must I really explain to you that making love to the mother doesn't hurt the baby? It's well protected, and if everything is as it should be, sex isn't a problem for the child."

"If everything is at it should be …" Georg repeated. "In this case it obviously wasn't." He looked again at the wall.

"It's perhaps possible that making love to the mother starts labour," the doctor admitted. "However, in such cases a miscarriage is more or less unavoidable. It can start with the mother bending down, moving too quickly, taking a shower or whatever. In a way it doesn't matter, Captain. Your wife would have lost this child in any case. It obviously wasn't entirely healthy. It happens – and it even happens more often than people realize."

"My first wife lost two babies," Georg remembered sadly.

"You see, Captain: It's nothing unusual." The doctor took the cup of coffee a nurse had brought him and thanked her with a nod. Sipping it he proceeded: "Your wife will need a few days' rest. I'll keep her in the hospital for three days. Afterwards you should wait for around six months or a bit more, but then nothing speaks against your wife having another, healthy baby. As I've said: She's young and fit and certainly will have more children."

* * *

Maria climbed out of the cab and smiled tiredly at the driver who was unloading her bag. "Just put it on the porch. I'll take it in then."

The man looked around. "Is no one waiting for you, ma'am?" he asked. "Should I perhaps fetch your neighbour?"

"Thank you very much, but you mustn't worry. My housekeeper is there and my husband has probably only gone to the stables. They'll take care of me," Maria answered.

"Well, if you're sure – then have a nice day!" The driver entered his cab and drove away, leaving Maria alone on the steps of the house. At just that moment the door opened, revealing a surprised-looking Susan. "Maria – what are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Susan! I was released from the hospital and I didn't want to wait for my husband to pick me up, so I took a cab. How is everyone?"

"We missed you a lot," the housekeeper said, taking Maria's bag. "I'm terribly sorry about the baby," she added quietly.

Maria suppressed a sigh. She didn't want to talk about the child she'd lost. The wound was too fresh and she was afraid she'd start crying. Swallowing she asked, "Where's Georg?"

Susan sighed. "He's with the horses. He didn't even want breakfast, but only asked me if I could look after Barbara."

"And where's Johannes? Did you take him to the kindergarten already?" Maria longed to go back to the normality of her daily life and was glad to talk about her children.

"Your husband drove him there before he went to the stables," Susan replied. "But now you must come in and have breakfast and lie down. You certainly will need a lot of rest in the next few days."

"I'll come in a few minutes," Maria promised. "But first I'd like to see Georg."

Slowly she started to walk down to the barn. The last two days in the hospital Georg had visited her every day and even sat at her bedside for hours, but he hadn't spoken much. Maria knew he needed time to deal with losing their child, but she certainly didn't intend to let him brood on his own for too long.

He was out in the meadow behind the stable doing dressage with Pluto Bona. For a moment Maria stood in the shadow of the trees at the path, watching the grey stallion moving through a sequence of rather complicated movements. Maria couldn't have named the single lessons, but she nevertheless enjoyed the grace and elegance with which Georg was able to make his horse move. Only his face being reddened showed that he was working with concentration; besides that he looked almost relaxed. 

Now he obviously was ready. Clapping Pluto Bona's neck, he let him have the reins. The stallion stretched, made a pleased whinny and walked with long steps around the meadow and towards Maria. In the last months with the horses living so close by, Maria had lost her fear of them. She only regretted now that she didn't have a treat for the grey boy who looked expectantly at her.

Georg had discovered her too and knitted his brow. Almost angrily he asked: "What you're doing here, Maria?"

Maria petted the stallion's velvety snout. "As far as I know I live here," she answered with a little smile. "I was released from the hospital and didn't want to wait for you to pick me up. So I took a cab."

"I don't think you should be running around," Georg glided down from the stallion and opened the saddle girth.

"Georg, I'm not sick!" Maria didn't know if she wanted to laugh or to cry. Wasn't it just typical for Georg to scold her? Yet she know that he was only angry because he worried and cared so much, so she waited patiently until he turned around, but didn't give him time to open his mouth again. She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. "And a good morning to you too, Georg."

That got her at least a little smile though his eyes remained anxious and sad. "I'm sorry, Maria – I was just a bit surprised."

"Besides you didn't have breakfast yet, I've heard. What do you think about a cup of coffee and some bread with jam?" 

"Coffee sounds nice. I only have to let Pluto Bona out to graze." Georg took saddle and bridles off, opened the fence and released his stallion with a pat on his back. Picking saddle and bridles up again, he looked at Maria. "You're still rather pale. What did the doctor say?"

"That I'll be fine in a few days," Maria answered.

"Only very sad, I suppose." Georg was walking towards the barn, opening the door of the little room where the leather was stored. 

"I think I'm not the only one who's grieving," Maria said to his back. In the hospital he'd always tried to comfort her but hadn't shown much of his own feelings.

"I've gone through that before." He sounded dismissive.

"Why don't I believe that repetition makes it easier?" Maria leaned against a pile of straw bails, watching how he almost furiously began to clean out Conversano Theokratia's stall. "Isn't that Kurt's job?" she asked.

"I gave him the day off." Georg used the pitchfork to throw manure in the cart.

"Ah – and next you'll chop some wood?" Maria asked and couldn't avoid sounding a bit ironic. It was obvious that Georg was trying to let off some steam.

"What do you expect me to do, Maria?" Georg pushed the cart out.

Maria waited patiently until he'd emptied it and came back. "What about talking to me, Georg? We're together in this, aren't we?"

For a moment he stood there, watching her, then his shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry, Maria – sometimes I'm a horrible egotist!" He rested the pitchfork against the wall and pulled her into his arms. "It seems so unfair to you!"

"What seems unfair?" Maria asked, playing with his hair, wrapping a lock around her finger.

"Losing the child. I know how much you wanted another one and how happy you were about it," he replied, holding her close.

"It was God's will," Maria simply said. "He gives and he takes. Nevertheless we should be grateful, Georg. We have each other, we have nine healthy children, and we can have another baby."

"Perhaps he thinks we've already got enough," Georg whispered.

"I don't think so." Maria raised her head and kissed his cheek. "But whatever comes – as long as we're together we'll make through, won't we?"

Georg nodded and for a few seconds he smiled at her. "I love you, Maria – very much."

"And I love you, Georg." Maria closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. As much as she still grieved for the baby, she knew they would overcome their sadness.

"I only hate that I have to go away so soon," Georg said. "I think I should be with you now."

Maria swallowed and fought against tears. The thought that he was only home for a few days almost broke her heart. Bravely she asked, "When will you leave?"

Georg sighed. "I got a call from the shipyard yesterday. They're almost done with the changes. Tomorrow the Liberty will be out of the dock. They'll do a few checks and then – well, we need new supplies. Then, on Saturday around noon, we'll meet the Arlington and the Shiloh, and then we're off to Europe."

"Saturday?" Maria inhaled deeply. "That's only four days – and I suppose you're needed on board even earlier?"

Georg nodded gravely. "Actually I need to talk to the engineers tomorrow. Of course, I'll come back in the evening."

Once more Maria swallowed. It wasn't only that he would leave her so soon; it was even worse: This time he wouldn't only be gone for a few weeks, but probably for months. And this time he wouldn't sail the Atlantic, but head for the Mediterranean. This time it wasn't just an exercise; it was war.

"Maria, promise me to be brave and not to worry too much!" he demanded now. "It won't be as dangerous as you think. We're not supposed to fight; we'll mostly watch. And the Liberty is the best you can get – quiet and quick. The Germans won't even know we're there."

"Oh Georg!" she sighed. "I said once I wouldn't want you to be less than you are, but now I wish I could keep you back. I don't need a hero for a husband – I simply need you, alive and well!"

"You wouldn't want a coward for a husband either," Georg replied seriously. "Nevertheless you mustn't fret. I firmly intend to become the grandfather who always bores the poor children with his stories about the war. Besides I want to be in the audience when Liesl sings the contessa in 'Figaro' for the first time, and I plan to go on a second honeymoon with you when Paris is free again."

Maria smiled up at him. "Besides, you promised me you'd carry me over the threshold and up the stairs to your bedroom in Aigen. And you said you'd make love to me on the island in the lake one day."

"You see, there are a lot of things I need to do after the war," Georg answered, kissing the tip of her nose. "Therefore I need to come back – and I will. I promise, Maria!"

To be continued 


	9. Chapter 9

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Thanks again to Trapper, who didn't only the quickest beta-ing ever, but a very well one! 

_**Chapter 9: Back to the old hunting grounds **_

November 1942 – August 1943

It had been a long journey. The first part of it had been easy: Starting in Annapolis the USS Liberty had become part of a convoy heading for England. For fourteen days they had shepherded a dozen slow carriers through the Atlantic, with Georg cursing all the time because the engines of the carriers had been so loud his sonar men couldn't have heard a German submarine if it had touched them. Besides, Georg hadn't liked the chattiness of his colleagues from the merchant marine. As a U-boat man he was used on operating in silence and secrecy, only communicating with other ships when he couldn't avoid it. Yet the captains of the carriers had seemed to talk all the time. Every change in the weather or in their course had resulted in them signalling as if they were going to meet for a party with everyone bringing a salad. And once, as they had discovered smoke on the horizon, they had behaved like a group of hens when the fox strolls around the coop. 

Georg really hadn't been too unhappy when they had at last met the two English frigates which were to take over the convoy. One last "good luck" from the chatty captains and then he had turned his boat, sighing with relief – though he had known that now the first big hurdle lay in front of him: The strait of Gibraltar. 

Of course, Tanger on the one side was supposed to be neutral. And Gibraltar on the other side was still English, but with the exception of the coast of Spain, the entire Mediterranean was in German hands. And as far as Spain's neutrality was concerned, Georg was convinced that the Germans had a lot of spies there who would certainly report the appearance of an unknown submarine. Then the hunt would be on, and Georg was too experienced to believe that he could disappear in the Mediterranean sea when his presence there was known. No, the trick was to sneak in without the Germans' knowledge – and that meant spending three days waiting and watching the strait before plunging in – an idea that had made his men look at him as if they doubted his sanity. Morgan Grammings, his first officer, had swallowed twice before clearing his throat and saying: "You know the depth of the water there, Captain?"

Georg had almost grinned. "Yes, I do – I've been here before. And I even know about the rather tricky underwater current that makes the terrain move and change. There are probably some wrecks down there too. We wouldn't want to bump into one of them."

Adam Plimsoll, his second officer, had studied the map. "We'd need eyes that see in the dark to dive through that!"

"We don't have eyes, but we have ears," Georg had explained. "We'll need to go slowly and carefully, feeling in front of us and using all our sonar systems, even the actives."

"And if someone hears us using them?" Grammings had asked.

"Then you can pray that the listener is English," Georg had replied. "But in this case our are good. The Tommies control this area, and I'm pretty sure they wouldn't let anyone through who would want to attack us."

"The question is if they will let us through!" Grammings had worried. "What if they mix us up with a German sub?"

"Then we'll sing _the Star-spangled Banner_, gentlemen!" Georg had grinned. "Seriously: The Brits are our allies. They know we're coming and they certainly don't expect us to sail through in broad daylight, with our flag flying and the entire crew on the hull, greeting them. So let's trust that their sonar men are good enough to know the difference between German engines and ours. You know yourself: Our boys could tell the difference in their sleep. Jenkins and Hardnick can even make out if the Germans are cooking pea soup or grilling schnitzels from the sound of the pots in their kitchens!"

It had required almost two days, but they had made it through the strait of Gibraltar. Their task hadn't become easier then. Their next destination had been Malta, and they had had to traverse half the width of the Mediterranean Sea, which was totally under German control, to arrive there. Georg had used this time to train his men for the mission to come. During the day they would lay low and dive, with only one of the electric engines in use as they slowly drifted, listening to the sounds of the many ships on the surface, trying to be as quiet as possible. They had even avoided normal conversation – every word was whispered and the cook had been scolded for moving his pots too loudly.

During the night they would surface, airing the boat and loading its batteries, all the time watching for ships. Once, they had heard a German submarine, but luckily the Germans hadn't noticed the Liberty, which had disappeared into the dark.

Once past Malta they were able breathe freely again. From there, the sea was ruled by Britannia, and in Cyprus they had finally met their admiral and his fleet again. There they had gotten fresh supplies, mail from home, and three days off. This break had been a great treat for Georg because on his second day the USS Shiloh had arrived, and with her came Ensign Friedrich von Trapp on his first mission. He hadn't only gotten permission to show his father his ship but to spend an entire day and evening with him. Georg had enjoyed the sightseeing and he had enjoyed even more strolling with his handsome son through the streets of Malta and dining with him at a Turkish restaurant. 

Two days later as he'd started on his new mission, the last he had seen of Cyprus had been the tall figure of his son, waving at him from the pier as the USS Liberty headed off to open sea again. This time their destination was the Adriatic. 

Just the year before, Hitler's army had taken over the countries along the sea's eastern shoreline, and the situation had become unpredictable. The Italians, allies of Hitler, on one side, the Germans on the other – and what were they doing there? British and American intelligence knew only that they used the ports for supplying and repairing their ships, but they had no idea how many ships were there or whether they were preparing for bigger operations – like an attack on Malta or Gibraltar. The Liberty's job was to find out – and as far as this mission was concerned, Georg hadn't been entirely honest with Maria. He hadn't wanted her to worry about him constantly, and therefore he hadn't told her that this mission was rather dangerous. They were alone in enemy waters, far from their base, and even a little mistake could cause them to be discovered. In that event their chance of escape would be rather small. 

Their one advantage was that Georg really knew the coast very well. Spending almost all of his summers there as a boy, he'd made it his mission to discover as many little coves as possible and by sailing, swimming, diving, and fishing there he had even learned where the water was deep enough to hide a submarine during the day. And so they established a routine: During the day they would hide in a cove, deep and quiet, sleeping and waiting. As soon as it became dark, they would surface, loading their batteries, slipping along the coastline and counting ships. Once a week they would sail between some small islands, using them to hide while sending a short, coded message to Malta.

This was the most dangerous part of their mission because they knew that the Germans were listening for such transmissions. Hence Georg always tried to come as close to the island or the mainland as possible – it gave them a chance that the Nazis, if they caught one of their radiograms, would think the sender was at one of the islands. The longer they failed to suspect a foreign submarine operating directly under their nose, the better. That was the reason Georg changed their hiding place every night – and it worked well. When they returned to Cyprus after the first eight weeks – they needed to restock and to refill – they were quite sure that the enemy still had no suspicion of an American U-boat watching every move of their ships.

The second eight weeks in the Adriatic Sea had been even easier than the first. The men had developed a routine and the weather had gotten worse. Sometimes it rained for days so that the Liberty could stay at the surface, filling her batteries during the day without fear of being seen by aircrafts. In the night they could approach the coast then and could sometimes even watch a port. And while the ships at the surface became almost blind and deaf during storms, the Liberty dived, switched its engines off and listened to all the sounds around it. By then they had learned to recognize a few German ships by the sounds they were producing and their reports to Malta become more and more detailed.

Georg knew they were doing a good job and besides missing Maria and the children, he loved his life on the Liberty. He loved that his men had become a crew to be proud of; that they had learned to trust him and would follow him now through hell and high water; he loved his sturdy boat which had become so familiar to him; and he liked knowing that their work made sense. Although they were only a tiny piece in a massive puzzle – the information they collected helped fight the Nazis.

Georg spent Christmas in the officers' home at Cyprus, writing a long letter to Maria and listening to the wireless. One channel played classical music, and hearing Bach's Weihnachtsoratorium gave him at least a feeling of being connected to his family, knowing that they would finish their celebration by singing one of the chorales from this piece.

January and February saw the Liberty not in the Adriatic Sea, but in the Mediterranean near the Italian coast – at this point the admiralty had thought about a landing operation there, but after Georg's report they had changed their plans.

Returning from Italy, Georg received a very nice surprise: Admiral Forrester welcomed him at Cyprus and told him that the USS Liberty would go back to the Adriatic in the summer. "But before that, she's to be docked and repaired – and I don't think you and your men will be needed in the shipyard for all of the four weeks the boat will be in. So we'll send you home for a little break. You certainly deserve it."

* * *

Georg felt almost reluctant boarding the airplane for the flight back to the United States. In the last months the Liberty had become "home" to him and the men he shared his life with were almost like a family. His other home, his real family – sometimes he didn't hear from them for months, and although he wrote at least twice a week to Maria and the children, the distance between them, the difference between his life on board and the one he lived with his family had made home – his real home – appear almost like something out of a dream. Was there really a world where he wasn't restricted to the cramped space of a submarine? Did he really have a home where people spoke out loud and sang during the daytime? And when had the world become so bright? He was used to the dim light of his U-boat, only coming out in the fresh air during the night. The space around him, the noise, the light – he wasn't used to it anymore.

As the airplane landed in Annapolis and he climbed down the stairs, he saw her: A small figure in a pale, blue dress, with one hand holding an elegant straw hat to her head as the other kept her skirt down against the wind. Everything about her was familiar and, at the same time, strange and exciting. A part of him rejoiced in the closeness he felt looking at her while another wondered that this lovely woman really belonged to him.

She stood a few steps away from a group of women who were probably waiting for their husbands too, chattering and laughing cheerfully. Georg felt irritated by the noise they were making and glad that Maria walked towards him, her hat now in her hand and the wind playing in her short, golden hair. Once he hadn't liked short hair on women, but with Maria he'd learned otherwise, marvelling at the sight of her neck.

"Georg!" Even after months of separation she was able to read him like an open book and therefore she knew that he wouldn't know how to deal with her throwing herself in his arms. 

He wasn't accustomed to having someone close to him anymore. The cramped space of the submarine was such that its inhabitants carefully avoided touching each other. Sometimes they even didn't look at each other, the men always trying to give their comrades as much personal space as possible on a ship so crammed as the USS Liberty. However, Georg knew that his wife could expect more from him than a formal greeting. Taking his cover off, he bent to her and kissed her cheek. "Maria – it's good to see you!" And it _was_ good, and the smell of her – vanilla, lemon and something sweet and uniquely Maria – made him aware how much he'd longed for her. He didn't need to force a smile anymore. It came naturally and from the same source came the wish to take her hand and to hold it. "It's been far too long!"

"You can't imagine how happy I was when I got your telegram." Maria entwined her fingers with his. "It's just a pity you couldn't come one week earlier. Friedrich was home – but two days ago he had to leave again. But tomorrow Max and Liesl are coming to stay with us for three days."

"How are the children? Why didn't you bring them?" Georg asked.

"I couldn't bring them all," Maria answered, leading him to the parking lot. "Barbara has a small cold, so I didn't want her to be out in the wind. The other children decided to stay home with her and besides," her eyes were beaming now, "they're preparing something for you." She unlocked a blue Chrysler. "Oh, I forgot: We've got a new car. The Ford broke down and even Kurt wasn't able to repair it anymore. So, with Kurt's advice of course, I bought this one. They had a special offer for officers. It really wasn't expensive and Kurt says it's a good car. In any case it's big enough for our family and nice to drive. I hope you like it."

Georg had once been interested in cars. Back in Austria he'd always driven expensive sports cars and enjoyed it. But now he just nodded. "It looks nice – and if Kurt says it's good …"

"Do you want to drive?" Maria offered him the key.

"No, no, thanks! I'm not accustomed to driving a car anymore." Georg packed his luggage in the trunk and climbed in. He'd never belonged to the group of men who believed women unable to deal with technology; nevertheless, it was odd to see how comfortably Maria settled in behind the steering wheel.

Yet after putting the key in the ignition, she didn't start the engine, but looked at him instead. "I wonder," she said with an almost shy smile, letting her sentence hang.

"What about, Maria?"

"Do you think a woman kissing her own husband in their own car would count as 'conduct unbecoming an officer'? And if so, would the fact that they're expected at home by seven children who want their father all to themselves count as 'extenuating circumstances'?" Maria laid her hand on his arm.

"It certainly would." Georg couldn't help grinning and pulling her in his arms. "Besides, her starting the kiss could lead to her being sentenced too. We could share a cell."

"And kiss all day?" Maria looked in his eyes. "Sounds wonderful to me!" Cautiously she started to nibble at his bottom lip.

It still felt strange to have someone so close to him, but in the same time the warmth of her soft body against his, the pressure of her breasts against his chest and the touch of her hand at the back of his neck was wildly exciting. For months he'd forbidden himself to think about this aspect of his life at home, but now something deep within him was awakened and demanded that he crush Maria against him, kissing her deeply and passionately. He couldn't help it, his hand came up on its own accord, gliding to her breast, cupping and pressing it.

"Maria!" His lips glided along her jaw down to her neck, sucking and licking. He couldn't get enough of the taste of her skin and how could he have forgotten how perfectly her breast suited his hand and how round and firm it was?

Another car's engine sounded nearby. Georg became startled and released Maria, looking at her flushed face. "I'm sorry, Maria – this certainly was 'conduct unbecoming an officer,'" he apologized, feeling himself blush.

"Well," Maria used the tip of her index finger to stroke away the lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. "I'd say it was my husband showing me that he missed me as much as I longed for him."

He looked at the other car, a dark Lincoln. "I think we should go."

"You're right." Maria used one hand to rearrange her hair and the other to start the engine. Smiling at Georg, she manoeuvred the car out onto the street. "You know, I love our children to pieces," she said quietly. "But just this moment I wouldn't mind if they were all at school instead of waiting for us at home. I wouldn't even mind them all being on the moon or wherever, as long as they were comfortable and well-cared for."

There was it again. A few words from Maria were enough to make him once again aware of the unique connection they shared and with this awareness came happiness and an overwhelming love for the woman at his side.

It hadn't been like that with Agathe. From the day Liesl had been born, their relationship had changed. Agathe had become Liesl's mother – first and foremost. And Georg had been the father of her children, bound to look after them and provide for them. And only then was he Agathe's husband – it came second, after him being the father of her children. Georg hadn't minded then – he'd thought it normal. Only, with Maria, it hadn't been like that. From the moment he'd proposed to her Maria had always managed to show him that he held a special place in her heart. It wasn't that the children came second after him, but somehow Maria held a subtle balance between her love for his offspring and her love for him. Even when he had gotten her into a situation where she stood between the children and him she never made him feel second. One look from her assured him of her devotion and that she only had his best interests at heart when she defended the children.

At first he had thought the very special position he had with her was connected to the fact that she wasn't the biological mother of the children. Of course, she loved them – there had never been a doubt about that. Nevertheless Georg had wondered how she would change with giving birth to children. However, by now he had learned that even that didn't influence her relationship with him. As much as she doted over Johannes and Barbara – she still managed to give Georg moments in which she wasn't the mother of his children, but his friend, his wife and his passionate mistress.

Once, only a few weeks after Barbara's birth as they were on a picnic, he had asked her about it. The little ones were napping, the older children were playing or reading and he was laying in a warm meadow, his head in her lap, smiling up at her. "You know, you're a phenomenon, Baroness," he'd said. "How do you do it? We're surrounded by seven children and I'm sure you even know what the two behind your back are doing. Nevertheless you make me feel as if it were only you and me, with vain old me at the centre of your universe."

"But you are the centre of my universe, Georg," she had replied simply. "I love our children – you know I do. But I'm aware that they're only on loan to us. We're to raise them to be independent people who will go away to live their own lives and have families of their own. One day when they're all grown up, it will be only you and me. We belong together, until death parts us."

Wasn't he blessed for having found a wife like her? A wife who was able to deal with his moods, to love him even when he didn't like himself and who could bring him back from being a U-boat commander in the Adriatic Sea to feeling at home at her side with one kiss? He smiled at her and put his hand on her knee. "Your dress is lovely – new?"

"Oh, Georg!" she laughed. "That's the third time you've asked me that!"

"Well, probably because you always look so fresh and exciting in that dress!" he answered.

"Keep up the flattery, Captain von Trapp!" Maria stopped at a traffic light and used the opportunity to put her hand for a moment on his. "I'm so glad I have you home, if only for a few days."

"I know this separation is very hard on you."

"Georg, you're not out there for fun," Maria said. "Therefore you mustn't sound as this is only a hardship for me. I don't think it's easy for you either."

Georg slowly shook his head. "I'm not so sure about that, Maria. I've always loved the sea, and commanding a submarine is what I'm really good at. In a way I enjoy my life out there."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'd hate to think that you suffer through it," Maria replied.

"Thank you, my darling. But now tell me: How are the children doing? You know, they're not very informative in their letters."

Maria laughed. "Louisa especially is rather vague, isn't she? She wants to surprise you – and I think she really will. She's found herself an instructor and a friend: Inge Levescu. As you can tell from the name: Inge is German. She was married to a Romanian count and horseman who died four years ago, so she came over here to live with her daughter who's married to a wealthy American businessman. Inge is seventy-nine, but fit as a fiddle."

"And how did Louisa meet her? I thought having horses at home meant she wouldn't roam through other stables anymore," Georg smiled.

"She doesn't. This time it was just the other way around: Inge had visited a friend in Annapolis and on her way back she came along the road and saw Louisa with Pluto Bona. The two were practising sideward gaits or whatever it's called and it didn't work too well because Louisa did something wrong."

"Let me guess: She was bending her hip again?" Georg remembered Louisa's usual mistake only too well.

"Something like that, yes. In any case Inge saw it, but didn't like it, so she climbed out of her car and helped Louisa. Since then she comes twice a week and once a week Louisa visits her to ride one of her horses. They breed racing horses, but Inge still keeps a few dressage horses."

"Levanescu, Levanescu," Georg tried the name. "George Levenescu," he said then, slapping his hand against his forehead. "Of course – he rode for Romania at the Olympics once. And I remember meeting him in Vienna." He laughed. "At first sight he looked funny: Rather small, but with a belly and very bowed legs and a head covered with unruly black curls. Yet on horseback he didn't look funny at all, quite the contrary. He was one of the most elegant riders I ever saw and a great horseman."

"Then you approve of his wife coaching your daughter? Louisa was a bit afraid of what you'd say. First she felt as if she'd been unfaithful to you by working with another instructor," Maria said.

"Oh, I certainly don't mind. I thought of getting her another instructor myself. It's no good to always have the same. He can become so fixed on certain things he overlooks other mistakes. Madam Levanescu certainly is good. I hope to meet her one day."

"You will – she'll come around in two days and she's looking forward to meeting you." Maria rounded a corner and was now driving along the road which led out of the city. "And I think you'll enjoy meeting another addition to the family: Francesca Elliot, nicknamed 'Franz' by our children. She's the daughter of the history professor at the academy and Kurt's girlfriend."

"Kurt's girlfriend? Maria, he's 15!" Georg furrowed his brow. "Isn't that a bit young for a girlfriend?"

"Franz is 14 – and they really make a cute couple! He's very adult around her – and a complete gentleman, carrying her school bag and protecting her and studying with her." Maria had smiled, but now become serious again. "You know, he certainly isn't the one I'm worried about."

"Friedrich? Is he in trouble with Julie?" Georg asked.

"No, they're still very much in love – I just got a letter from her the other day." Maria sighed. "It's Liesl I'm worried about."

"She certainly doesn't lack admirers," Georg said with a scowl, thinking of all the boys who had infested the house while Liesl had been there. 

"But there's still no boyfriend," Maria said. 

"Well, I think my daughter is choosy," Georg replied.

"She certainly is, but I don't think that's the problem."

"Maria – don't tell me she's still not over the little wannabe Nazi back in Salzburg!" Georg snorted. "That boy never suited her."

"If love demanded suitability, you, my dear Baron, wouldn't have married your children's governess," Maria answered lightly. "Besides I didn't say that Liesl is still in love with the boy. But her experiences with love made her scared of it."

"Experiences?" Georg pronounced the plural. "Was there anyone besides this Rolf?"

"Of course – she witnessed what love did to you." Maria didn't look at him, but kept her eyes firmly on the road. "She's your oldest. She lived with Agathe and you longest and she was old enough to see a few things – like your love for each other. And then her mother died – terrible enough for a child. Yet in her case it became even worse because she had to watch her father – and I needn't tell you that she always had a special connection with you – almost fall apart in his grief. She watched how you couldn't deal with your children anymore and how the love which had created them almost destroyed you."

Georg swallowed. "Do you really think she saw it like that?"

"Yes, Georg, I believe so." Maria looked briefly at him. "During the time in New York when we were going through a rough patch with each other, Liesl was terribly afraid that you would distance yourself again. And she was having nightmares about what happened at the Abbey. She thinks that her gasping when she saw Rolf endangered the entire family and forced your confrontation with him. Just imagine her situation: They boy who'd been her first love threatening to kill her father, probably the person she loves most in the world. And she thinks she was the one responsible for that!"

"What can I do to help her?" Georg asked.

"Talk to her, Georg. She's coming tomorrow," Maria replied simply.

"You think it was wrong of me not to talk to her about the night in the Abbey before?" 

"No, I actually don't think so," Maria said. "She needed time to come to terms with it on her own. If you had talked to her earlier, she would have thought you were only trying to comfort her. You know, Liesl is very much your daughter – she's as headstrong and proud as you are."

They were close to their home now. Suddenly Georg saw a shadow in a tree and then heard a thump and a voice: "They're coming!" Kurt had jumped down from one of the trees in the driveway, opening his arms to catch Johannes who was coming after him. Together they ran over the meadow towards the house, Johannes stumbling, rolling through the high grass, but immediately jumping back up on his legs and following his older brother.

"Oh my!" Maria sighed. "There goes my hope of presenting the children for once clean and orderly to you. I'm afraid without you it's difficult to maintain strict discipline."

Indeed, the scene which played out a few minutes later in front of the house certainly didn't seem disciplined: Seven children running towards the car and jumping on their father who was hardly out of the car when he found himself overrun by a very enthusiastic and dirty Johannes who yelled at the top of his lungs, "My papa is back!" while Brigitta, still the observant one, discovered a new ribbon on his chest and Marta worried loudly about him being too pale and Gretl tried to tell him something about school. Only little Barbara didn't come close to him, but clung to Maria's skirt, her thumb in her mouth – she was too young to remember the time when she'd insisted on her father bringing her to bed and though she often asked for him and was shown his photograph, she didn't know how to deal with the man her siblings were hugging and kissing.

Georg certainly didn't think of "conduct unbecoming an officer" now. He tried to catch as many of his children as possible, tickling and embracing them. When he finally came up, he looked like one of his sons with his hair tussled and a broad grin plastered on his face. "Don't you think deserve something to eat and drink before being overrun?"

"Oh, Father – we made a cake for you!" Marta cried out. "And there are cookies and coffee and the table is set and we've just been waiting for you to come at last!"

"First give me a moment," Georg laid his arm across Louisa's shoulders and looked over to the fence where the two stallions were standing side by side, "to say hello to the four-legged members of the family." Looking at his daughter, he asked: "Since when do we let them in the same meadow?"

"Three months now," Louisa answered. "I know it's rather unusual to have two stallions together, but they're so friendly with each other! And they wanted to be in one meadow. PB jumped over the fence twice and one time Conny ran straight through it."

"Well, as long as they don't fight," Georg was close to them now and they both whined loudly for him. Petting their noses, he whispered, "I missed you, boys."

"They missed you too," Louisa said. "You know, the first weeks after you were gone, Conny stood at the fence every evening around the time you normally come back. He was waiting for you and when you didn't come he was really sad. I almost cried when I saw him standing there after two hours, his head hanging and looking so miserable."

"Louisa …" Once more he laid his arm across her shoulders. "You know why I'm out, don't you?"

"Of course I do! But," for a moment Louisa buried her face in his chest, "it's rather difficult to explain to a horse, isn't it?"

"Luckily," Georg used his free hand to stroke Conversano Theokratia's neck again, "they don't know about war."

"Father, how long do you think this war will go on?" Louisa asked.

Georg sighed. "That's a question the president would like to know the answer to as well. I don't know, Louisa – but at the moment I'm not too optimistic about it being over soon. I don't believe Germany can keep on fighting on so many fronts as they do now, but they've captured a big portion of Europe."

"I hate this war!" Louisa stated.

"We all do, Louisa." Georg turned around. "Let's go back to the house, shall we? I'm starving. You know, I was in an airplane for almost fourteen hours and only got a few soaked sandwiches."

* * *

Fourteen days at home – they had gone by much too quickly. Georg had tried to spend as much time as possible with the children and to do at least something one one one with each of them. He had built towers with Barbara who, after three days of being rather shy, had started to cling to him again; had gone shopping with Gretl and shared a big special chocolate sundae with Marta at the ice cream parlour. The next day he had picked Kurt up from school, driving with him along the coast – and yes, on a lonely, little road he'd allowed his son to drive for a few minutes. Coming home afterwards, he had taken Johannes with him to the stables. They'd groomed Conversano Theokratia and then they had struck out together, Johannes proudly sitting in the saddle in front of Georg and crying with delight as Georg made the stallion canter across the meadow. 

With Brigitta he had gone on a long stroll along the beach, talking about books she liked and the one she dreamed of writing someday. With Louisa he had of course gone riding and watched her lessons with her excellent new instructor.

And there had been Liesl who had come home on the second day of his stay, and as she had climbed out of Max's car, very elegant in a blue suit which drew out her eyes, he had felt rather overwhelmed about how grown up and beautiful his daughter had become. Yet as she had thrown herself into his arms, he had known that she was still his Liesl, his beloved firstborn who would always hold a special place in his heart.

On her first night at home she had sung for the family and Georg had been close to tears. She had become such a great singer with a voice like a bell! The second day he had driven with her to a seafood restaurant out of town, where they had shared lunch and had a long talk. It had been the first time he had spoken to her as an adult, trying to be as honest as possible about his feelings and the past. He had been amazed at how grown-up his daughter was and about how many ideas and thoughts she had.

Fourteen days at home – it had meant fourteen nights too, nights he had spent making love to Maria and talking to her until sleep overwhelmed them. The last two nights they had hardly slept at all. Although Maria had shown admirable braveness in not shedding a tear, she had clung to him as if she feared not seeing him again.

The last morning at home had been sad. Maria had only picked at her toast, Barbara had cried quietly because she didn't want her father to disappear again, and Johannes had been grumpy because he didn't understand why Georg was going. He had been almost glad when he finally was out of the house and on his way to the airfield. There Patricia Forrester had been waiting for them. She had become a motherly friend to Maria and hadn't wanted her to be alone after Georg was gone. She had also handed him a little package for her husband – "You know, he won't be home for a month" – and had assured him that she would look after Maria. 

A last embrace then, Maria whispering "I love you!" and then he had boarded the airplane, looking out on the small figure with the golden hair. Patricia Forrester had put her arm around Maria's shoulder and he had known that his brave wife would cry all the tears she hadn't wanted to burden him with.

Now, six weeks later, he was back on duty and on a dangerous mission. What he had already thought back in Annapolis when studying the air photographs from the area around Trogir, a little town at the Croatian coast, had now become a certainty: The Germans were building up a shipyard there. But the photographs taken by aircraft didn't show any details and so Georg had suggested to his Admiral that he would have a look at the building site himself.

First Charles Forrester hadn't liked the idea. "You can't come close enough without endangering your boat. Didn't you tell me yourself the bay of Trogir is rather flat?"

"Yes, sir, but I don't intend to get my boat in," Georg had answered and pointed to the map. "Have a look here, sir: There's a kind of peninsula in front of the city. The shipyard is here," he had put his index finger on the spot. "A ship going there needs to sail through this passage. I intend to get the Liberty here," he pointed to a spot behind the peninsula. "This bay is deep enough to sneak in underwater. Then we'll go up, put a little boat out and I'll land on shore here," he pointed to the peninsula. "I know this cove rather well – I once camped there for a week. From there on I need only to walk three hours to the city."

"And what will you do there? You can hardly waltz onto the building site, kindly asking if someone might hand over the plans to you!" the Admiral had said.

Yet Captain Soller had already gotten it. Rubbing his hands together, he had said: "But Captain von Trapp can, Admiral! He speaks the local language and he knows the country and the people there. With a little help from our intelligence service – I mean like papers, money and a local connection – he can go there and have a look."

"Hmm." The Admiral had chewed on his cigar. "Sounds too dangerous for my taste."

"It actually isn't," Georg had disagreed. "What could go wrong? They certainly don't expect an American officer to be hobnobbing among them and as Captain Soller already mentioned, I speak Croatian."

"Good enough to come across as a local?" The Admiral had raised his eyebrow.

"I grew up here and I was once stationed at Pola," Georg had answered. "Besides we really need information about the shipyard. When they build U-boat bunkers here, we're in real trouble. Five or six submarines here would be enough to block Malta and to make it unapproachable for our ships. Then the entire Mediterranean coast would be lost to us."

The Admiral had sighed. "I know, von Trapp, I know. But what would we do if they did indeed station submarines there?"

"We'd destroy the shipyard of course," Georg had replied simply. "Having information about it would make us able to do so. Sir, let me get in and find a way!"

"You're a brave man, Captain, but this plan sounds reckless to me." The Admiral still hadn't been convinced.

Georg and Captain Soller had needed almost half an hour before their superior had given in. Sighing he had reached for the phone. "I'm going to call intelligence. We'll need their help."

Three days later Georg had gotten papers, money, clothes, a contact address in Trogir and a story. He was to become Ivo Crovic, a fisherman from a little village down the coast who had lost his boat during a storm and who had come to Trogir for work. A part of his story was true: There was a fisherman named Ivo Crovic who had lost his boat in a storm. Only he hadn't gone to Trogir; he had been fished out of the water by an American battleship.They had taken him, heavily injured, to the hospital in Cyprus where they had learned that he didn't have any family. So no one would look after him – and he certainly wasn't keen on leaving Malta soon. Being there, well-cared for by the Americans, was in any case nicer for him than searching for work at home.

Another week of preparations and then the USS Liberty had been on her way. She had arrived at her destination around midnight and after one hour of listening around, Georg, already wearing civilian clothes, had given the order to surface and put the dingy out. One of his men had rowed him ashore and while Georg climbed up the peninsula, the USS Liberty, now commanded by Morgan Grammings, had disappeared, leaving her captain on his own for a fortnight.

Georg had used the night to cross the peninsula, reaching its other side just at dawn. Standing on a hill he had looked over the bay, watching how trucks drove along to a large construction site. Whistling cheerfully he marched down to the beach and from there towards the street into town. He had only been walking for ten minutes when he heard the sound of a big engine behind him. Stopping at the side of the road, he lifted his thumb and grinned up to the driver of a truck, which stopped next to him. Georg knew that he looked pretty rough – he hadn't shaved for an entire week, his hair was tussled and his clothes rather dirty and torn. Yet in this case it was to his advantage. The truck driver certainly would have wondered about a posh-looking stranger, whereas Georg looked to him like a local. So rolling his window down, the driver grinned, spit out the match he'd been chewing on and asked, "Need a lift to town, mate?"

"Yep!" Georg climbed into the truck. "Nice of you to pick me up." He offered the driver his hand. "I'm Ivo."

"I'm Tony." Tony started the engine again and let the truck roll down the street. "What were you doing out here so early in the morning?" he asked curiously.

"Well," Georg stretched the word, quickly thinking of a convincing story, "I actually was on my way to Trogir last night – you know I need work. But you know how it goes – one gets thirsty and there was this pub and in it I met this girl – a rather well-made one …" Georg actually enjoyed playing the rogue for once and even used his hands to show the driver what he meant by "well-made."

Tony chuckled. "It's always nice to meet one you get your hands full with, isn't it?"

"Yep." Georg grinned and pointed back over his shoulder to a few houses along the coast. "She lives over there. And as a gentleman I got her home, of course." He leared as suggestively as he was able.

"Ah – and because you were just there, you stayed for breakfast?" Tony asked with an understanding grin.

"I would have liked to, but her husband came home earlier than expected."

"Husbands are a bother!" Tony pulled a bottle out from under his seat. "Coffee?"

"Oh yes, coffee would be great!" Georg took the bottle, opened it and took a gulp of the bitter, hot beverage. "Now I'm better. Eh, Tony – do you have an idea where I can find work in Trogir? I'm pretty broke – and I was told there's plenty …"

"Yeah, there is work in spades at the shipyards. The Germans are searching for men who're willing to work had. But they keep really long hours and they don't treat us locals nicely. But at least they pay rather handsomely."

"Sounds good to me," Georg said. "I don't mind hard work." He grinned inwardly – it looked as if the first part of his plan would be a piece of cake.

* * *

"Maria?" Patricia Forrester looked at the young woman she had come to love like a daughter. They were standing in Maria's kitchen, baking cookies for a party they were to give for the welfare of young soldier families. However, Maria had suddenly stopped kneading the dough and was now looking out of the window, lost in thought. 

Patricia suppressed a sigh. Although Maria had tried to put on a brave face over the previous few weeks, Patricia knew that her friend took the renewed separation from her husband hard. She obviously didn't sleep well, had become twitchy. and was too often caught in a gloomy reverie.

Watching Maria for a moment, Patricia thought, "Poor girl! If only she weren't so in love with her Georg!" It wasn't the first time Patricia had wished Maria were a bit more "philosophical" in her feelings towards her husband. Of course, her Georg was charming and handsome, though too stiff and reserved for Patricia's taste, and Patricia could understand that Maria was deeply in love with him. But a bit less of it would have been better for her welfare. Patricia was glad that she was used to her Charlie and not swooning over him any more. She loved him – deeply and tenderly – and she certainly would have liked to have him home more often. But on the other hand, he had been her high school sweetheart and they had been together now for almost 40 years. And with him being a sailor, she had gotten used to him often being away for months. Sometimes she even enjoyed it. His absence gave her a freedom she wouldn't have gotten otherwise, and because of it she had become the one who ran the family. She managed the finances – her husband probably didn't even know what a nice fortune they had in their bank account. She made decisions about the house, the car, the children and the holidays, while her admiral mostly commended her decisions with the phrase, "You know best." They had become a team, trusting each other implicitly and feeling comfortable in the knowledge that they didn't need to worry about their relationship.

Maria turned around and with a heavy sigh started to knead the dough again. Patricia inhaled deeply. "What's the matter, Maria? You're looking rather gloomy. Still missing that husband of yours so much?"

Maria forced a smile. "Of course I miss him – and to know that I won't even get a letter from him in the coming weeks …"

"I'm sure he thinks of you!" Patricia put a few cookies on a baking sheet, wiped her hands on the apron tied around her hips and laid her arm across Maria's shoulders. "He won't be gone forever, you know," she said comfortingly.

Maria bent her head. "I do hope so!" she whispered, a tear running down her cheek. "I feel so bad, Pittypat! I promised him to be brave, but I can't. I'm scared and fretting and can't stop crying at night."

"Darling!" Patricia didn't mind that Maria's hands were still covered with dough. She pulled her crying friend into an embrace and rubbed her back soothingly. "It's normal to fear for your husband – you mustn't be ashamed of it. We know that our men are in a war and we all fear for their lives. Even I do, though I know that my Charlie is relatively safe on his carrier. Only we mustn't let the fear overwhelm us. We must keep faith in our men and in our God. He'll bring your Georg and my Charlie back to us, Maria!"

"Thank you, Pittypat – I wouldn't know how to go through this without you!" Maria said, stepping out of the embrace. "Oh, now I've gotten dough all over your apron!"

"No problem, Maria – it was already dirty."

Maria leaned back against the table, for a moment studying the tips of her shoes. "Patricia, may I ask you a favour?"

"Of course, dear. What can I do for you?" Patricia took the dough Maria had gotten ready and started to roll it out.

"You know," Maria sounded awkward, "I have an appointment with the doctor tomorrow – and, coward that I am, I don't want to go there on my own."

"Why do you need a doctor, Maria? Aren't you well?"

"Oh, I'm fine – don't worry," Maria answered quickly. "It's only," she inhaled deeply, "that I believe I'm pregnant again."

"Maria!" Patricia turned around. "That's wonderful! You want another baby, don't you?"

"Of course I want more children." Now Maria smiled. "You know Georg and I would like to make the dozen full. However," her expression became sad and her voice lowered to almost a whisper, "I lost my last child – and now I'm afraid for this one. I couldn't bear losing it, Patricia, I simply couldn't!" She started to cry again. "I was in the hospital for three days with the last baby and you can't imagine how it felt to see the other women who'd gotten healthy children and the proud fathers! And there was Georg and he was so sad and," she sobbed and wiped her eyes, "it was the first time I really disappointed him."

"Did he say so?" Patricia asked sharply.

"No, of course not." Maria cleaned her nose. "He comforted me and he was, as always, very supportive and wonderful. Only I knew how much he would have liked to have another baby. You know, children are very important for Georg …"

"Who would have guessed with a father of nine?" Patricia commented dryly.

"It's probably because he was an only child and very lonely throughout his childhood. His father died when Georg was only four and his mother married again, a man who never cared much about his stepson. Georg was brought up by governesses, boarding schools and the naval academy. Sometimes he even spent Christmas at school because his parents were travelling. So the thing he wished for more than anything else was a real home and family."

Patricia took a sheet full of cookies out of the oven and put the next in. "Maria, you mustn't defend your husband's love for his children." She smiled. "It was what got him my sympathy on our first meeting."

"Really?" Maria had calmed down a bit and was moving the cookies onto a plate to cool down.

Patricia poured herself a glass of water – it was rather warm in the kitchen. "You know, Charlie always likes to hear what I think about someone new on his staff, therefore your Georg got a dinner invitation on his fourth day with Charlie. You were, if memory doesn't fail me, still in New York, packing for the move …"

"Yes, I remember. Georg told me about the invitation." Now Maria was grinning. "To quote him: 'I'm to be inspected by the Admiral's wife. '"

"He of course passed the inspection with flying colours," Patricia chuckled. "He appeared exactly at eight o'clock, immaculately groomed and dressed, with an orchid for the mistress of the house and a perfect kiss to my hand, the shining epitome of an officer and gentleman. Only I found him rather stiff and very formal – I actually thought him a cold fish and was wondering about the kind of woman who was married to him." Now she laughed out loud. "My, my, Maria – I've rarely been so wrong about something!"

Curiously Maria asked: "What did you imagine her to be like?"

"Oh, I imagined a very stylish, sophisticated European noblewoman – you know, a blonde, blue-eyed ice queen who always looked as if she expected us American women to still be carrying guns to get the Indians out of our backyards!"

"That actually sounds like Baroness Elsa von Schraeder, Georg's ex-fiancée." Maria was laughing now too. "She always looked like a picture out of a magazine for elegant ladies."

"And you couldn't for the life of you imagine her baking cookies herself?" Patricia asked.

"I'm sure she doesn't even know that cookies are baked. She probably thinks they appear magically in her baker's shop for the sole purpose of being delivered to her." Maria put the last sheet in the oven. "So, we're done. Would you like coffee now?"

"I would, but I'll make it myself. You sit down, Maria!" Patricia was already filling the kettle. 

Maria sank down on the bench in the corner of the kitchen. "Thanks, Pittypat – my feet are rather sore. It's always one of the first things I notice when I'm pregnant."

"With me it was my bladder. It drove Charlie out of his mind: For seven months I ran to the bathroom once an hour. When we were out, the bathroom was always the first thing I looked for." Patricia got two cups out of the cupboard and put them on the table. "But I wanted to tell you the story of how I first met your husband Dinner – oh my, Maria, it was such a boring affair! Your captain obviously had decided that the best way to get through it would be talking shop – and so he did, and my Charlie loved it. By dessert I was already bored out of my mind and so I decided to interrupt the gentlemen by asking your husband about your family and when they'd arrive in Annapolis. Charlie then mentioned something about the von Trapp family being rather big, and I of course inquired how many children our guest had. I think I looked like a gaping codfish when your husband dryly told me 'Nine.' At that moment, my idea about his wife changed. I didn't think of an ice queen anymore, but of a rotund matron, running around in her kitchen on bare feet with at least two little urchins clinging to her apron while she yelled at four or five other children to stay away from their father's freshly laundered shirts. And of course, in my imagination this lady was very pregnant and called her husband 'Daddy.'"

"Do you think such a woman would suit my husband?" Maria asked.

"Actually no, but one can never know. I remember my husband's predecessor. He looked like an Admiral out of a book – tall, handsome, the perfect gentleman. His wife in the meantime – she easily could have passed as a market wife. She always wore dresses that were too bright and too tight, had a voice you could have cut glass with and once shocked an entire ladies' room at the academy ball by announcing loudly that her husband had married her because he loved her – and I quote, Maria – 'big titties' so much. I can tell you: neither Beverly Soller nor I were ever able to look at the Admiral again without thinking of that and feeling embarrassed!"

The coffee was ready. Patricia took the pot, poured some of its contents into the two cups, pushed a plate with cookies in front of Maria and sat down. "So, in the good conscience of duty done we can have some of our cookies – and I can bore you with the rest of my story about your husband's first night in the Forrester house."

"You don't bore me at all!" Maria said, reaching for a cookie and nibbling at it. 

"Then let's continue." Patricia sipped at her cup. "After I'd asked your husband about his children, the atmosphere changed. Charlie mentioned that your oldest son would join the academy and your husband told me then that his oldest daughter was to become a singer. And then he talked about the younger children – and suddenly he wasn't a cold fish anymore, but a proud and loving father. I saw how close-knit your family was and how important it was to him- and then I started to like him."

"The children are Georg's pride and joy," Maria laid a hand over her belly. "He'd be so happy about another baby! Just, please, let it be healthy this time …"

Patricia reached over the table and patted Maria's hand. "It will be healthy. Tomorrow we'll go see the doctor and then, in a few weeks, your husband will be back and the two of you will be able to dote over another beautiful little one!"

To be continued 


	10. Chapter 10

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter **__**10: In deep water**_

_Author's note: There's some "strong language" in this story. Dear children, if you read this: Don't use such words. Your mummy wouldn't like it and as the story __shows, it's only allowed when you're in a really, really dangerous situation._

_And once again: Thanks to Trapper for the great beta-ing!_

Autumn 1942

Georg von Trapp wasn't a man for cursing. His upbringing, his sense of decorum and his beliefs had always forbidden him to express himself using vulgarities. On the other hand, he was rather familiar with them. He had spent a good part of his life among seamen who certainly didn't feel the same compunction about salty language that he did.

And now he felt like cursing loudly and banging his fists against the wall. He was incredibly angry with himself and, while a part of his mind was desperately searching for a way out of the situation he had gotten himself into, another was running down an extensive catalogue of derogatory descriptions for himself, starting with "bloody imbecile" and not quite finishing with "damn, blithering idiot." How could he have been so utterly stupid, so totally dense, so laughably half-witted? For the rest of his life – and no, in this case it certainly wasn't a comfort that the "rest of his life" most likely encompassed a rather short time span – he wouldn't forgive himself that he had been so clumsy, so thoughtless and so bloody arrogant! Considering the level of asininity he had demonstrated, he really should run his head against the wall – though that thought didn't make the idea of the Nazis using said head as their punching bag more pleasant.

If the situation weren't so dire, he could almost laugh about it! Georg von Trapp, the master spy – he had really felt like that over the past several days. It had all been so easy! Tony, the truck driver, had taken him to the shipyard where he had met Darko, the leader of the local workers. Darko had immediately taken a liking to Georg and hired him. He had gotten a job and a bunk in the barrack attached to the building site. And in the evening he had kept close to Darko and had made him laugh – and considering that Darko wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed it had been a rather easy task.

Sharing laughter, beer and cheap Slibowic (1) had gotten Georg Darko's trust rather quickly. By the third day Darko had already admitted to him that he always felt at a loss when one of the architects gave him a plan. He couldn't read it properly, didn't understand it, and was always afraid he would give his men incorrect orders and get in trouble for it. Georg had of course helped the man out by explaining the plan for the bunker. From then on, all plans Darko received had landed directly in Georg's hands – and Darko hadn't minded when Georg studied them at night. On the contrary – he had praised him for being "such a good mate."

Of course, Georg had had felt lousy about betraying Darko like that. But Darko loved his homeland as much as Georg loved Austria, so Georg rationalized that working to free Croatia from the Nazis wasn't really betraying Darko … was it? And the plans – to get them in his hands had been more than Georg had ever hoped for. They had given him insight into the workings of the bunkers and the shipyard, and he had memorized them until he was sure he could recreate them.

After one week in the shipyard Georg had known his way around perfectly. He had known where everything was and he had even known where the bunkers were most vulnerable and how to approach them from the sea. His plan for destroying the facilities was ready in his head, he had only needed to go back to Cyprus and to set it in motion.

Why hadn't he disappeared then? He had discovered enough and going away would have been so simple: Just a matter of telling Darko in the evening that he would like a bit of fresh air and then wandering off. Darko certainly wouldn't have followed him, and considering how drunk he was every night, he certainly wouldn't have noticed that Georg was even missing until the next morning. Georg would have had plenty of time to hike to the peninsula and to hide there. He knew where to find fresh water there. He would have been able to get enough berries and fruits and fish to make it through the few days until the USS Liberty was scheduled to pick him up.

Only he had become too smug. He had believed he could gather even more information, taking advantage of every day until his boat came to get him. And so he had walked directly into their clutches.

During his first days at the shipyard he had been very cautious. Whenever he had seen a German uniform, he had kept his head down. But this morning he had just come out of the architects' office where he had gotten a few plans for Darko when he had seen three officers in black SS uniforms heading directly towards him. There had been no way to avoid passing them, but Georg hadn't worried much about it. The Nazis normally ignored the local workers – and he looked like one in his dirty clothes and with his long, tousled hair and the beard that hid half his face.

The problem had been that he hadn't entirely ignored them. He had suddenly recognized the voice of one of the officers – and he had been so startled that he had dropped his papers. When he bent down to retrieve them, he had bumped into one of the officers who had snapped at him, "Can't you look where you're going, imbecile?"

He had looked up then – what could he have done otherwise? He had even said "Sorry," faking an accent and lowering his voice to a mumble.

It hadn't been good enough. The moment he had raised his head, the middle one had looked at him – and of course, Ernst Zeller knew him too well to not recognize him, even with a beard and long hair.

Admittedly it had taken a moment for it to dawn on Zeller. For a few seconds he had stared at Georg as if he had see a ghost. Then a broad grin had spread across his face and he had bellowed: "Hold this man!" Rubbing his hands together gleefully, he had smirked at Georg, whose arms had been gripped by Zeller's henchmen. "Indeed, Baron, you are a man of hidden talents!" Zeller had sounded as if Christmas, Easter and the Führer's birthday had come together for him in that moment.

"So are you, Herr Zeller! I would never have thought to see you in uniform – though I must say it doesn't suit you too well. Too much beer and schnitzels – and you know, Herr Zeller, a belly and a uniform don't go together well," Georg had retorted.

Zeller had shaken his head. "Still the old arrogance, von Trapp? You know, it was always the main reason why I couldn't stand you!"

"I'm glad to hear it. You know, if you had liked me, I would have thought I'd done something wrong." Georg had known that provoking Zeller wouldn't better his situation. He had been aware what deep trouble he was in. But it actually couldn't get worse – and so he had wanted to at least go down with guns blazing.

"Von Trapp, you're obviously not aware of your situation!" Zeller had fumed, his face becoming as red as a ripe tomato. "You're a deserter and a traitor. If I were to order my men to shoot you on the spot, no one would care."

"You won't kill me just here," Georg had replied. "You're too curious what I'm doing here. And as a dead man I couldn't tell you."

For a moment Zeller had looked at him as if tempted to throttle Georg personally. Then he had nodded. "You're a clever man, von Trapp. It's a pity you didn't join us."

"As you just said: I'm clever." Georg had grinned.

"I really want to know what the hell you're doing here. Last I heard, you had gotten your smart ass to America. So what brings you back here – and in such a state?"

"Well," Georg's grin had become even broader. "My smart ass and I probably got homesick. You know, I grew up in this area – and it _is_ beautiful, isn't it? The air and the sea and the hills …"

Zeller had shaken his head. "Brazen to the end! But I think we should find a nicer place to talk." Nodding at his men he had added: "Take him to the car. But be careful – he specializes in escapes!"

"You flatter me, Herr Zeller!" Georg had said. He had felt relieved that Zeller wanted to get him away from the shipyard. The longer Zeller kept him around, the better his chances of escape.

For the moment his chances certainly didn't look good. Zeller's men had brought him to a house outside of Trogir – obviously Zeller was now commanding a SS squadron and had set up his headquarters in a villa that had probably once been an Austrian aristocrat's summer home.

During the drive Georg had learned something interesting: Zeller's second in command worried about the Gestapo not liking the fact that Zeller had captured Georg. Obviously the security of the shipyard was their responsibility, and his penetration reflected poorly on them. Georg didn't know yet what to make of this piece of information, but it might come in handy sooner or later.

But now he needed to take stock. He had had another talk with Zeller, but of course he hadn't revealed anything about his mission – which had made Zeller furious. He had ordered his men to "convince" Georg to tell the truth. Their method of persuasion had been a severe beating – and there was no doubt that they knew how to hurt a man without killing him! They had given Georg a black eye, a nasty cut on his bottom lip, a burn wound on his cheek – one of them had crushed his cigarette there. In addition, Georg was sure that at least two or three of his ribs were broken and he didn't even want to think what the kicks he had endured had done to his private parts.

Georg knew he was tough and could bear a lot of pain. But he also knew that no one could keep up against torture forever – and that the Nazis were very good at torturing people. Sooner or later they would break him. He had to get out of their grasp before it happened – if only he knew how! They had imprisoned him in a cellar with only single, small window. There was no way to slip through. And the door wasn't an option either – heavy wood with iron on it. The furniture of his cell – if the smelly, old paillasse, the rusty bucket, and the broken chair could be called furniture – wasn't of any use either.

Laying down on said paillasse, Georg searched for a position that didn't hurt his broken ribs too much. About his groin and the pain there he really didn't want to think. Instead he closed his eyes and remembered his last holidays at home. The one night he had spent with Maria in the officers' club, dancing – she had looked so lovely in the sea-green dress with the flared skirt! And how it had swung around her beautiful legs and how perfect she had felt in his arms. He loved dancing with her – her grace still touched him as much as it had during their first dance on the terrace in Aigen. It had been the night when he had become aware that he was falling in love with his children's governess – only to learn that she had run away to the abbey.

When he found her note – only a few words – he hadn't been able to believe that she had really left. He had gone to bed, only to get up again and walk to her room, where he had sat on her bed, looking at the open closet full of the clothes she had made for herself. He had been convinced that he had scared her away – she had seen the desire and passion in his eyes and it had made her run.

How could he have hoped otherwise? Why would a girl like her – young, lovely, smart and full of life – want to become close to a grumpy widower with seven children who was at least 25 years her senior?

In the days after her departure he had felt as if his loneliness would finally consume and break him. But there had been Elsa, witty, elegant, sophisticated Elsa who always seemed to understand him and never minded when he brooded. In fact, she had specialized in getting him out of his dark moods. It had been the first thing he had liked about her when they met in Vienna three years previously. Elsa had been able to make him laugh, and with Elsa he had always felt alive. And she had tried so hard to get along with his children and to show him that he didn't need to feel so alone!

The night before Maria's return he had been with Elsa. After dinner he had taken her out for a carriage ride, driving the horses himself. Afterwards they had sat on the terrace – Max had been away that night, so it had been only Elsa and him and a bottle of very old Tokayer (2).

Georg certainly had drunk too much of it and Elsa – with her such things were hard to tell. In any case she had landed in his lap and their kisses had become rather heated. Of course, he had kissed her before, but their "courtship," if it could be called that, had always been a rather casual one – mostly because he had always kept himself back, still unsure of his feelings. He had desperately wanted to fall in love with her and sometimes he had convinced himself that it had happened, but there had always been doubts – doubts that had kept him from deepening the relationship.

On that night on the terrace in Aigen he hadn't thought of his doubts. He had only thought of the warm, pliable body in his arms, of her smell, of the feeling of her breasts against his chest and how wonderful it felt to kiss and to hold a woman. And she had combed through his hair and had snuggled against him and then she had whispered, "You know, Georg, if we were in Vienna I'd ask you now if you wanted to see my stamp collection."

"I didn't know you collect stamps," he had replied.

"That's because I keep the collection in my bedroom, darling!" She had looked at him expectantly.

For a moment Georg had been tempted. To lose himself in her arms, to make love to her until he forgot all about his misery, to sleep with her next to him – it had been very hard to resist. However, he had been aware that Elsa deserved better than him using her for comfort. "Elsa," he kissed the tip of her nose, "I'm very, very flattered, but I don't think it's a good idea. There are seven children in the house and sometimes when they can't sleep they come to my room unannounced."

She had looked at him, her beautiful eyes full of warmth. "I love you, Georg von Trapp," she had stated simply.

At that moment, proposing to her had seemed the right thing to do. He had been very fond of her, he had desired her, she would make a perfect Baroness von Trapp – and his infatuation with Maria would pale with time and separation. She didn't want him. She had gone and would become a nun soon.

Yet the next day Maria had come back – and the moment he had seen her standing in the garden, surrounded by his excited, happy children, he had known that he couldn't marry Elsa. She deserved a man who loved her – and he had never really loved her. He had loved Maria from the moment she stepped into his life and he knew that he would love her for the rest of his days.

"Von Trapp!" Someone was kicking him again. With a moan, Georg turned around and opened his eyes. Zeller, flanked by two of his men, was towering over him, looking rather annoyed. "I'm so sorry, but we must take leave of each other, dear Baron!" he sneered. "I've other obligations to look after. So I'm offering you as a little gift to our friends, the Gestapo. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, and they'll certainly make you admit what you were doing in Trogir."

One of the men bent down, gripped Georg's arm and yanked him to his feet. He took a rope and bound Georg's hands in front him, and then he pushed him forward. "Up you go!"

Georg stumbled up the stairs and out of a door into the yard. It had become dark and rather cold, but the sky was clear, the Southern Cross gleaming brightly over the landscape. Without turning his head, Georg looked around. There was a big fence around the yard – no chance to jump over it – and the iron gate was watched by two soldiers with guns. There was no chance to escape from here, but Georg didn't give up hope. He climbed into the jeep and waited until Zeller and his men were in too. The youngest of them sat in the back next to Georg while the other drove and Zeller had taken the seat next to him. Turning around, he looked at Georg. "Too bad I don't have enough time for you, von Trapp." His little eyes glimmered in the dark. "I would have so liked to talk to you more. On the other hand – I'm rather disappointed in you. I always thought you're a family man - and now you're here on your own? What made you leave the little nun you married? Were you bored in your marital bed?"

Georg didn't answer – some things he considered simply too low.

But obviously Zeller hadn't even expected an answer. He was chattering away, his voice full of glee: "You know, I actually thought it rather harsh of you to make the poor children and your young wife escape with you over the mountains. The cold nights out there and the long, long distance – they must have suffered!"

"Don't worry, Herr Zeller – my children and my wife are tough." Georg produced a cool smile.

"They'll need to be in the future; they'll need to!" Zeller turned, showing Georg his back and bellowed at the driver. "Don't go so fast! You know how dangerous this street is!"

The jeep slowed down and Georg looked around. They had just driven through a small forest with umbrella pines. Now the road curved and then followed the line of the ledge running along the coastline that lay around 20 metres beneath it.

Georg knew the road well. During his holidays as a cadet he had biked along it more than once. In his mind he could clearly visualize it, knowing that there was one very sharp bend where the car wouldn't only need to speed down, but would also be only one or two feet away from the edge of the ledge. Of course, at the same point the sea was far below – at least 30 metres. And there were rocks in the water.

Georg's heart started to beat quicker. In approximately three or four minutes they would arrive at that bend in the road – and he would take his chance. As soon as the car slowed to go round the curve, he would jump. Naturally, it was very dangerous. His chances of landing on one of the rocks instead of in the water were 50:50. However, the alternative was the Gestapo, and _there_ his chances of survival were nil.

They were approaching the curve. Once more Zeller nagged the driver about slowing down while Georg dug his feet into the floor, tensed his muscles, and breathed as deeply as his broken ribs allowed. One minute – and there they were. The jeep would never get closer to the ledge. Georg leaned sideways and let himself tumble out of the jeep, almost yelling in pain as his broken ribs hit the street. One roll sideways and he was over the ledge and falling, desperately pulling at the rope that held his hands together. He heard the brakes of the car and a furious scream from Zeller and then his knee hit a rock while the rest of his body fell into the ice-cold water, going down like a stone.

* * *

Delivering bad news wasn't something Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester had ever avoided. Being an officer who felt responsible for his men, he had never backed down from the task of informing wives, mothers and other relatives personally about the death of their loved one. However, years of practise in this matter hadn't numbed his suffering shared with the people he had to talk to. And in this case – Forrester sighed, lighted a fresh cigar and stared out of the window of his office to the port where the USS Liberty bobbed up and down next to the old battle cruiser that served as a mother ship to the submarines of his fleet.

It had only been yesterday that the boat, under the command of Morgan Grammings, had arrived in port, but the bad news had travelled ahead of it. Three days earlier, the Admiral had gotten a radiogram from the USS Liberty, saying: "After waiting 72 hours for our captain, we were discovered by German aircraft and had to leave without him. We were bombed, can't dive anymore due to damage in a diving cell and are in urgent need of air support."

The Admiral had of course sent two American aircraft to help the submarine to Malta. At the same time he had talked to intelligence – and only 48 hours later he had received a report from Trogir that said that one of the local workers in the shipyard, a certain Ivo Crovic, had been taken away by three SS officers. Another report that had come in a few days before that stated that the local SS squadron in Trogir had gotten a new leader: Ernst Zeller, former Gauleiter of Salzburg.

Connecting those reports, it was evident what had happened at the Trogir shipyard – and knowing how the SS treated their enemies, the hope that Georg von Trapp had survived his capture had diminished. The Admiral was a man who was accustomed to facing facts, so he had folded his hands and had prayed that at least his protégé hadn't suffered too long in the hands of the enemy. Afterwards, he had ordered his yeoman to call the USS Shiloh. She was on her way back to port and the Admiral wanted to see Ensign Friedrich von Trapp, who served on her, as soon as the ship arrived at Cyprus.

Now the Shiloh was there. Just one hour earlier she had berthed at the pier, only a few steps away from the Liberty. Charles Forrester had watched a jeep pick up a tall young man. It was only a matter of seconds now until he would arrive at the Admiral's office.

A knock at the door and then the yeoman stuck his head in. "Ensign von Trapp is here, sir."

Forrester cleared his throat and stood up. "Send him in – and don't disturb us!"

The door opened and a tall young man in a black uniform marched in. "Ensign von Trapp at your command, sir."

"At ease and take a seat, Ensign!" Charles Forrester surveyed the young man who removed his cover and sat down stiffly in one of the chairs. His blond hair was bleached by the sun, his small, handsome face was tanned, the mouth was firmly set, and the piercing blue eyes looked serious and sad.

Forrester sighed inwardly. He had watched the young man's career since he had joined the academy and was more than pleased with it. Friedrich von Trapp was everything the Navy wanted in a young officer: devoted, hard-working, polite, engaged, highly intelligent, efficient and good at dealing with his people. Besides he was everything that a father could want in a son, and sometimes Charles Forrester, father of three daughters, had almost envied von Trapp for this boy.

Forrester hated what he had to tell Friedrich von Trapp. On the other hand – the way the Ensign watched him now made pretty clear that he suspected something. Or had he already seen the Liberty's flag flying at half mast? The Admiral breathed deeply. "I'm terribly sorry, Ensign, but it's bad news I've called you in for."

Friedrich von Trapp nodded. A little nerve in his cheek was twitching as he answered quietly, "I was afraid so, sir. Is it about my father?"

"Yes, Ensign. We've lost him." The Admiral cringed inwardly – he wished he could have said it softer, more comforting.

"Dead?" The one word, hardly more than a whisper, seemed to hang over the room like a dark cloud.

For a moment Charles Forrester felt tempted to soften the blow. There wasn't a body, there wasn't even a report about the Captain's death. Therefore the official statement said "Missing; presumed dead."

However, the Admiral knew how slowly hope died and how often relatives of missing men clung to the belief that their loved one would come back. In most cases it only made their life more miserable because they couldn't even grieve properly. No, Friedrich von Trapp and his family deserved the truth, as cruel as it was.

"We must suppose so," the Admiral replied. "Your father was on an undercover mission in an Adriatic port. As far as we know he was caught by the SS – and in this port the commanding officer of the stationary SS squadron is an Austrian, a certain Ernst Zeller."

"Oh!" Friedrich paled. "Then there isn't any hope left." He said after a moment. "Zeller has loathed my father for years."

The Admiral nodded. "There's another problem. The Nazis certainly don't care about laws anymore, but in the case of your father their laws support shooting him on the spot. You know they ordered him to take a commission in their Navy. Him not accepting makes him, according to their law, a deserter. We know that he was sentenced to death _in absentia_."

"Yes – and under their law my father joining the American Navy was high treason," Friedrich von Trapp said.

The Admiral walked around his desk and, for a moment, he laid his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Your father was an incredibly brave man and he died for what he believed in. The American Navy will always be proud and grateful for him serving with us. You should be proud of him also."

"I am and always was, sir." Now Friedrich sounded a bit affronted. "I didn't need him to die to make me aware that he is," he immediately corrected himself, "_was_ a hero."

"No, certainly not. I know how close you were to each other. And as I've said before: I'm terribly sorry, Ensign. You know I appreciated your father very much."

"Admiral," Friedrich was looking up at him, "who's going to tell my mother? You know, she's expecting a baby."

"Yes, I do know." The Admired allowed himself a sigh. "I intend to send you home on the next available flight. My wife will pick you up at the airport – you know, she's become a close friend of your mother's and cares a lot about her. I've suggested a medal for your father. There will be a ceremony in a few days – a chance for the family and friends to say farewell."

Friedrich only nodded and breathed deeply. "My older sister needs to be informed too. She lives in New York."

"Give me her address and we'll look after her." The Admiral pushed a pen and a sheet of paper towards Friedrich. "Your family is Roman -Catholic, isn't it? I'll send the New York Navy priest to talk to your sister. He'll get her home to the family."

"When am I to fly home?" Friedrich asked.

The Admiral looked at the clock on his desk. "In one hour – one of my men will drive you to the airfield." He turned and went back to his side of the desk where he took a big, brown manila envelope out of a drawer. "My chief of staff, Captain Soller, was in your father's quarters last night, collecting and packing his belongings. He found this …"

He handed Friedrich the envelope. On its cover stood, written in an energetic, but elegant hand: "To give to my family in the event of my death. Georg v. Trapp."

* * *

The airplane was up over the clouds now, its engines filling the entire cabin with their whirring. Friedrich, who had gotten a row of rather uncomfortable seats to himself, opened the duffel bag he had set next to him and pulled out the manila envelope. Under the flap was a seal, bearing the family crest: a bustard (3) over an anchor. He looked down at the ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand that showed the same crest. It had been a gift from his father on his 16th birthday and had once belonged to his great-grandfather. In his mind, he thought he heard his father's voice, "I think you're a man now, Friedrich – and not only a man, but a von Trapp. I believe that's not too bad a name to go through life with."

Friedrich thought so too. He had always been proud of his name and the ancestors who had established it. And in a way he was even proud of belonging to a part of the von Trapp family that wasn't high aristocracy. In his case, the ancestors who had earned the honour hadn't been dead for hundred of years, but were rather closely connected with him. It had been his great-grandfather who had begun his career as a naval officer as a simple Cadet Friedrich Trapp. In the end he had become Admiral von Trapp, decorated and honoured by the emperor himself. His grandfather then had been Kapitän zur See (4) Ludwig von Trapp, and it was said that he could have achieved admiralty too if he wouldn't have died at the age of forty-one. His son Georg had made up for that – it had been he who had received the Maria-Theresien Order and with it the rank of a Ritter and the right to be addressed as "Baron von Trapp."

Of course, being a Ritter von Trapp didn't mean much in the American Navy. But it meant a lot to Friedrich personally. He was determined to bring honour to his name and to become his father's true son.

Turning the envelope once more, Friedrich studied the inscription. "To my family" – who was to open it? Only a few days earlier, something addressed to the von Trapp family would have been opened by the head of the family. But now? Was he to give the envelope to Maria? She was the head of the family now, wasn't she? On the other hand, he was the oldest male member in said family and he longed to know what his father had wanted to tell his family.

Breathing deeply, he opened the envelope. Looking in it, he discovered that the big envelope contained several smaller ones. Friedrich let them drop into his lap and sorted through them. The biggest one with a lump in one corner was addressed to "Maria" and it was the only one that was only closed with a drop of wax with no seal on it. Friedrich didn't wonder about it – the shape of the lump told him that his father's seal ring and his wedding band were in the envelope. Of course, he couldn't have taken them with him on an undercover mission. Friedrich knew that there was an inscription inside the wedding band. It read "Amor vincit omnia – G.v.T. + M.v.T." and the date of their wedding.

Sorting through the other envelopes Friedrich had to fight back tears. His father had written to every single one of his children. There even was an envelope with the address "My unborn child" and another one to "Max Detweiler."

Friedrich thought he knew what was in that letter. Max had been his father's best friend – the one man he trusted totally. The letter probably asked Max to be the guardian of the younger children.

And there was the letter addressed to "Friedrich." Putting all others back in the manila envelope, Friedrich opened his with trembling fingers and pulled out two folded sheets in his father's handwriting.

Friedrich felt his eyes start to burn and closed them for a moment. A memory swam into view: his father sitting on his desk in the study in Aigen, writing letters. As a small boy Friedrich had loved to be with him then, quietly leafing through one of the many fascinating books his father owned. And one day as his father had written to his wife – she had been visiting her parents for a few days – he had set Friedrich on his lap and he had been allowed to use his father's fountain pen to scribble his name on the letter.

He still remembered the fountain pen well: a black one with an artfully crafted golden feather. And when one looked very closely at it, one could still see a paled gravure on the shaft, reading "Georgie." The pen had been a gift from Friedrich's mother and she had been the only person ever who had called his father anything other than "Georg."

The letter now – once again Friedrich had to swallow and wipe his eyes before he could begin reading.

"_Naval Base Cyprus, September 16, 1942_

_My dear Friedrich,_

_it feels rather odd to write a letter in the hope that you'll never read it and it feels even odd__er to think that this may be the last time I will talk to you._

_However, I'm to start on a dangerous mission in the next few days and I'd hate to leave you behind without a proper goodbye. You are my oldest son and that is something special. As much as I love your older sister and as proud as I ever was of her – the moment the midwife put you in my arms, announcing 'Here's your son' I knew that the two of us would develop a very special relationship._

_One day you__ too will probably feel what it means to have a son as you watch someone close to you grow up and as you discover yourself in him. It means hope – hope that you can help that boy become a better man than you were; hope that he'll develop to his full potential; hope that he'll become as special to the world as he was always special to you. Children are our future, our way to become immortal, and our one great chance to better the world. For me, watching you was always like looking to a better time, hopefully a time of more peace and freedom in the world. _

_Yes, Friedrich, I was always proud of you. You have been all that I could have hoped for in a son: bright, brave, kind-hearted, caring, talented at so many things, hard-working and loving. I know I didn't show you enough how much you meant to me and I certainly didn't tell you often enough how much I loved you. Instead I always demanded a lot of you and was often too strict. There even was a time when I thought I should toughen you up with too much discipline and coldness – and I'm well aware that I was harder on you and Kurt than I was on your sisters. I believed you should never be as weak as I felt in these dreadful days, and I wanted to make sure that you would never suffer as much as I did. I was wrong, utterly and absolutely wrong. Maria showed me, but even after learning it I was too proud and too pig-headed to admit it to you and Kurt. Now I want to, and I want to ask your forgiveness._

_I want even more: I want you to become a braver man than I was. If you ever lose someone close to you – please, don't run away from your memories and grief and the people closest to you. It doesn't work. Stay with your family and keep everyone together, my son._

_I trust you, Friedrich, to be the man in the family now. Although I've asked Max to be the younger children's guardian, I want you to stay at your mother's side and guide your younger brothers through their lives. I don't worry much about Kurt – he's stronger than he's aware of. But I want you to look after Johannes and the baby who will come. If it's a boy, he will – like Johannes – need a man to look up to. _

_I know that I am demanding much from you; h__owever, there is something else I need you to know and to think about: After the death of your mother I thought I could never become happy again. Then I found Maria and you know how she changed my life and how happy she made me. Yet I've always been aware that she is many years younger than me and that she would become a rather young widow one day. I hate the idea of her wasting her life on grieving. I want her to be as happy as she deserves – and I expect you and your siblings to support her in finding a man who gives her what she needs. I know she'll always remain your mother, but that certainly doesn't and shouldn't mean she can't become another man's wife._

_And for you, my son, I hope for happiness too. You're rather young, but knowing you__, I believe you've already found the woman who will become your Baroness von Trapp one day. You don't need my approval for that, but I want you to know that I would have liked to have Julie as a daughter and that I would have enjoyed dancing with her at your wedding. _

_I must write to your siblings, so I need to get close this letter. Time is running short and so there only remains one thing to say: God bless you, my son!_

_Your loving father, Georg v. Trapp."_

* * *

Maria sat on the windowsill in her bedroom, looking out at the two horses in the pasture. In the moonlight their white coats looked like silver, but there was something very sad about the picture. It was as if the two stallions felt the grief that weighed down their owners and suffered with them, neither one interested in feeding, both standing there with their heads hanging. And perhaps they really knew – Louisa had disappeared to the stables after dinner and Maria was sure that she had cried at Conversano Theokratia's shoulder.

Maria hadn't cried – not when Patricia and Friedrich told her, not when Liesl and Max arrived, not when she read Georg's letter, and not even when she took his wedding band and put it on her finger. Although his hands had been so elegant and slender, the ring was too big for her. She would need to have it newly fitted for her, but not yet. For the moment, she had pushed her own ring under Georg's to secure it.

It felt odd to look at it because it reminded her so much of the first time she met Georg. As he had pulled out the whistle, she had noticed that he wore two wedding bands – his own and, over it, the one that belonged to his late wife. The two rings had touched her and whenever she had looked at them, they had made her aware that the man who acted so distant around his children and ordered them about like little sailors wasn't simply cold-hearted, but a grieving widower.

And then, the day after their engagement – in the morning at breakfast he had announced the happy news to the children and then he had disappeared, murmuring something about "business in town." He had come back after lunch, finding her – it had been a rainy day – with his offspring in the nursery. "Children," he had said, "I need your governess for a while. I trust you to behave until I've returned her to you. I'd be especially grateful if you could refrain from breaking the house down or sneaking animals into beds." He had grinned at the children, softening his words with his expression and then he had taken Maria's hand, leading her down to his study and placing her on the sofa. With an awkward smile he had kneeled down in front of her and had taken her hand. "Now let's do this proposal business properly: Maria Augusta, you know that I love you. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"Of course, Georg – I love you too!" She had wanted to hug him, but he had kept her back.

"We're not done yet. There's still the ring thing. Let's see …" He had taken her left hand, playfully nibbling at her thumb before putting a golden band on her ring finger (5). "So, that's that." Then he had opened her hand and lain another gold ring, bigger than hers, in her palm.

Blushing she had put the ring on his left ring finger and, in doing so, she had registered that he had removed the two wedding bands from his right hand. Pulling his right hand to her mouth she had kissed the place where he had worn the bands. It had felt as if she had claimed him in that moment – not the late Agathe von Trapp's widower anymore, but her future husband.

Now she was his widow – "the relict of the late Captain von Trapp," as some people would say. And at the same time the baby in her belly was kicking, reminding her that in only six weeks she was to give birth to a child who would never know its father, would never be kissed and hugged by him. How was she to raise this child on her own? And what about her other children? The older ones at least had memories of their father, but Barbara – the little she knew about him she would probably forget. And Johannes – how was he to become the man he was supposed to be without his father to look up to?

Brigitta – she couldn't help thinking of her. She was so like her father and she had always been his special child, though he would never have admitted it.

Hearing about his death, Brigitta hadn't cried either. She had only sat there, her eyes huge in her pale face, clinging to her book as if it were her lifeline – and of course, it had been Hölderlin poems again, a book out of her father's library and a favourite of his. Liesl had lain her arm across Brigitta's shoulders, but she had shaken it off almost furiously. Like Georg she needed to deal with her grief alone and, like Georg, she would probably distance herself from the rest of the family. It would be Maria's task to get her back – or could Liesl help with that?

Liesl – the oldest child and the strong one, the girl who had always looked after her younger siblings and who was now looking after Maria too. Just one hour earlier Liesl had accompanied her to her bedroom. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?" she had asked.

Maria had shaken her head slowly. "Thank you, darling, but I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Are you sure? You know, you should get some rest – the baby needs it."

"Don't worry, Liesl – I'm going to bed soon," Maria had replied.

"But you won't cry all night, will you?"

Once again Maria had shaken her head. "No, darling. I know the baby needs sleep." As close as Liesl had always been to her, she hadn't wanted to tell her that she had already cried throughout the last few nights.

It was odd, but a week earlier as she cleaned up the kitchen after lunch, Maria had suddenly felt as if something deep within her had been broken. Her first thought had been the baby, but there hadn't been any pain in her belly, only a feeling of sadness and desperation. It had been as if the connection she had felt to Georg since their first kiss had suddenly been severed. With it, all hope to see him again was gone. Even the fear for his life she had become accustomed to in the previous weeks hadn't been there anymore, only grief and gloom. She had cried during the nights since then and through the days she had scolded herself for being silly, but nevertheless she hadn't managed to suppress the loneliness. Her heart had known that something terrible had happened and therefore she had been neither surprised nor shocked as Patricia and Friedrich had told her about Georg's death. She had expected the blow and she had been prepared for it.

Even the letter hadn't come as a surprise. Georg hadn't been a man to go on a dangerous mission without being prepared for the worst. Maria remembered only too well how he had taken her to a lawyer a few days before he had first left for Europe, deposing his will there. Georg had always kept his affairs in order and Maria had expected him not to leave her without a last farewell.

Gliding down from the windowsill she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her, walked over to the bed, sat down and opened the drawer of her nightstand. There was the letter and she took it, slowly reading it again.

"_Naval Base Cyprus, September 18, 1942_

_My beloved Maria,_

_was it really only four years ago I promised you 'till death do us part"? It feels like a lifetime – a wonderful one. But part of it was another promise I gave you only a few weeks ago. I said I'd come back to you._

_If__ you are reading this letter, I've obviously kept the first promise and broken the second one. _

_I think I needn't tell you how sorry I am, and, whatever has happened to me when you get this letter, I'm sure of one thing: my last thoughts went to you. From the day you walked into my home and my life with your ridiculous hat and the dress the poor didn't want, I was yours, entirely and utterly and with all that I am. You overran every wall I'd erected to protect my vulnerable self and with you I learned that I don't need any protection other than your love. You made me happier than I thought possible; you were everything I ever dreamed of._

_I know I was far from being an ideal husband. I'm too pigheaded, too proud, too impatient, too moody, often brooding, certainly not good at talking about my feelings, often enough egotistical, and always demanding. To live with me certainly isn't easy, but you nevertheless managed it and even more: Thinking of you makes me think of a song I always wanted to sing for you – and now I wonder why I never did. _

"_You are rest, you are peace,_

_you are bestowed upon me from heaven._

_That you love me makes me worthy of you;_

_your gaze transfigures me;_

_you raise me lovingly above myself,_

_my good spirit, my better self!" (6)_

_Thinking back o__n these wonderful years with you I actually can't help laughing at myself and what a fool I was when I married you (no, I don't think it was foolish to marry you, on the contrary – it was one of the wisest things I ever did in my life. But my thoughts then were infantile). My young bride, so inexperienced in the ways of the world – I really prided myself on the idea that I would be the one to protect you, to guide you and to spoil you._

_Instead it was you who protected me, who guided me to become a better father to my children, and it was you who spoiled me with your tenderness and passion._

_As much as I loathe the thought of leaving you, I know that you'll be able to manage without me. You'll bring our children up, you'll keep the family together, and you'll help them through their grief._

_However, there's one thing in which I want you to follow my advice. You never wanted to talk about it, but now we can't avoid the subject any longer. I was always aware of the age gap between us and that it means you will become a young widow. Now you are 26 years old – and that's certainly much too young to spend the rest of your life as my relict. As your wise Reverend Mother said so rightly: You have a great capacity to love. And you deserve to be loved back and to be cherished and adored._

_I can't give you these things anymore. As the one who went through losing a partner I can tell you: memories aren't enough to keep you warm during cold winter nights; memories aren't enough to drive the loneliness and the longing away, and memories certainly aren't enough to fill a heart. I want you to sing and to laugh and to love again, to live a happy life. _

_You know, two years after I lost Agathe, I met a widow just around my age who told me she would never marry again due to the great love she'd had for her late husband. Saying that, she actually made me doubt the happiness of her marriage because I felt that loving and losing Agathe had made a big hole in my life – and that my memories of our life together made me want to fill this hole and to belong to someone again. And even more: as I fell in love with you, I knew that Agathe would have been happy for me. She had loved me and she would have wanted me to be happy again. Love isn't really love when it can't let go, love isn't really love when it can't put the other's happiness above one's own feelings._

_Therefore I want you to marry again. I know there are a lot of wonderful men out there, younger and better than me and just waiting to make a woman like you happy. Give one of them a chance! Give yourself a chance to love again and to be loved. And trust in our children supporting you – I've told them that it is my wish that you marry again."_

Despite her sadness Maria almost laughed. Ordering her to marry again – that was so typical of Captain Georg von Trapp, the man who had been used to planning and commanding. Actually she wondered that he hadn't presented her with a list of candidates to be her second husband!

Only in this case she wouldn't obey his order too soon. She simply didn't want to think about it at the moment. Her heart belonged to Georg, and Maria knew that she would need a long time to let him go.

The next part of the letter was about the children, his hopes and wishes for their future and how glad he was to know that Maria would be there for them.

Then he had come to their unborn child:

"_The hardest thing now is to __leave without having seen our youngest child, not even knowing if it's a boy or a girl. I think you know how happy it made me to learn that you're expecting again and how much I looked forward to holding our new baby in my arms._

_I've written a letter to our unborn child. I want you to read it and to keep it until our child is old enough to understand it. Of course, the decisions about this child's future are up to you, but I would like to suggest that you ask the Forresters to be its godparents. Patricia Forrester is very fond of you, and the Admiral is a good man who cares a lot about our family."_

He had then asked her to get his seal ring copied. The original was to go to Kurt, one copy was to go to Johannes, and another one to their unborn child if it was a boy. After that he had written about finances and how to deal with the estate in Austria when they got it back after the war. And finally he had become personal again, writing about his love for her and how blessed he had felt for having lived with her, finishing with the words:

"_Live happily and God bless you, my beloved! Yours to the last hour – Georg."_

To be continued

(1) Slibowic: Typical schnapps in this area.

(2) Tokayer: Red wine from Tokay in Hungaria. It's rather famous and was once named "The Emperor's wine" because it was often served at the court in Vienna.

(3) The German word for "bustard" (a big bird) is "Trapp(e)". Therefore the bustard is part of most crests used by the von Trapp family and, yes, even nowadays noblemen in Germany and Austria wear seal rings with their family crest on the little finger of their left hand.

(4) Kapitän zur See – the rank equivalent to the British/American Captain. In this case the movie was inaccurate: Georg von Trapp wasn't a Captain, but only a Korvettenkapitän – a rank equivalent to the British/American Lieutenant Commander.

(5) I think European customs in this department are slightly different to American ones. Here the bride doesn't get a big diamond as an engagement ring, but her future wedding band. During the engagement both partners wear it on the ring finger of their left hand. At the wedding it changes to the right hand.

(6) The text is from Friedrich Rückert (1788-1866), and the translation from German was done by Emily Ezust. The text was set to music by a few composers – like Bela Bartok and Carl Georg Grädinger. Yet the version Georg is here thinking of is the one done by Robert Schumann as "Widmung", op. 25, No.1 from "Myrten".


	11. Chapter 11

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Once again Trapper has outdone herself in matters of quick beta-ing. Thanks, dear, you're really great!

_**Chapter **__**11: The knight in shining armour **_

October 1942

Liesl von Trapp closed her fingers around the crumpled handkerchief she was holding, fighting with all her might against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her again.

The last week had been a nightmare. From the moment the priest had appeared in the little flat she shared with her friend Julie, she felt as if the ground under her feet had shifted.

"Your father was killed in the line of duty." The priest's line still rang in her ears, but despite hearing it, she wasn't really able to believe it. Her father couldn't be gone like that, simply disappearing out of her life without even saying goodbye! Of course, there was his letter, but what was a letter when she needed to hear his voice, to look in his eyes, to be in his arms?

She had always been Daddy's girl and even during the time he had grieved for her mother and distanced himself from his children, Liesl had known that there was a special connection between him and her. Even then they had shared moments of closeness. Sometimes it was only a glance at each other and him smiling his half-smile; sometimes it had been a little touch, him stroking her cheek before he went away once more; and sometimes it had been a little phrase like "What would I do without you, Liesl?"

He had trusted her to look after her younger siblings, and though the responsibility sometimes had been a burden on her, she had felt honoured by her father counting on her.

As the oldest child in the family she was probably the one who had known best about her father's vulnerability and how much he had suffered after her mother's death. Therefore she hadn't found it too hard to forgive him for the coldness with which he had held his children at a distance afterwards. Him coming back, becoming the loving and caring father again that she had known – it had made her very happy. And Maria – even if Liesl hadn't already loved her for the person she was, she would have adored her for making her father so happy.

But now Maria was sitting next to her, dressed in black, her hands cupping her swollen abdomen protectively, her face like marble and her blue eyes looking far away. What was she thinking while listening to the speeches honouring her late husband? How did she feel about the empty chair on the stage, decorated with a blue and gold cover, a pair of white gloves, the American flag and the Maria-Theresien Order with its red and white band?

The Navy had outdone itself in honouring its dead hero. Admiral Forrester had come to Annapolis and he had brought the entire crew of the USS Liberty with him. The officers were standing on the back of the stage, their covers under their arms, black bands around their arms. And there was Admiral Jemmings, the four golden stars on his shoulder glimmering. Next to him sat a lanky, bald man in civilian dress – Alan Rewards, the Secretary of Naval Affairs at the White House. He held a little box between his hands. Liesl already knew that it contained the Navy Cross, a high order the Navy wanted to honour her father with posthumously. She also knew that he would have been proud of the medal, but that didn't change the fact that it didn't mean much to her. She would have given away all the accolades in the world to get her father back!

Admiral Jemmings was speaking now, but his words about duty and honour did not really reach Liesl's ears. She thought of the letter her father had written to her, telling her how much he loved her and how proud he was of her. And she remembered their last walk together. They had talked about her studies, her dreams for the future – "One day I'll sing Figaro in Salzburg and you'll sit in the front row, won't you, Father?" – and about what had happened in the Abbey with Rolf, the boy who had been her first love. However, as important as this talk had been to her, she wasn't thinking about the words now, but about how close they had come to each other.

Liesl remembered how much she had liked to cuddle with her father when she was a little girl. She had loved to sit on his lap when he was reading to her; she had loved to hold his hand when they walked together, and every night when she went to bed, he would come and tuck her in, kissing her forehead. Though it was long ago, she still remembered how he had smelled, how silken his hair had felt under her fingers and how strong and soft at the same time his hands had been.

As the years went by, touches, hugs and kisses had become rarer. There had always been a younger sibling asking for his attention or needing to be held. Liesl had learned to accept that she, as the oldest, was supposed to be the "sensible one" who understood that her father couldn't hold her hand when there was a toddler around who couldn't walk on his own yet.

After her mother's death Liesl had almost forgotten how it had felt to be hugged and kissed by her father. He had grown so distant that she hadn't dared to touch him anymore. In that period, Brigitta had been the only von Trapp child who had sometimes come close to him. She had been only four years old when she began to pester her older siblings and the governesses with her wish to be taught to read. At six years old, she had already grown bored of the children's books in the nursery. She had started to sneak down to their father's study to read his books – first only when he was away. However, with Brigitta totally losing herself in books, it had been inevitable that Georg, coming home earlier than expected, would find her one day in her favourite chair in his study, totally entranced by a book. To Brigitta's surprise he hadn't kicked her out, but only grumbled: "You can stay if you keep quiet and don't disturb me."

Brigitta had taken that as a "general permission" to read in the study whenever she wanted to and indeed, Georg had never minded her. Just on the contrary – one day Brigitta had told Liesl that he even would sometimes ruffle her hair or stroke her cheek, asking her what she was reading and if she was enjoying it.

Liesl had almost envied her then – besides the very rare occasions when he noticed her, normally her only chance to get his attention was by playing tricks on governesses or starting an argument with him.

Maria coming to the house had changed everything. Liesl would never forget the day when Baroness von Schraeder had come to visit. She had probably been the only one of the children who understood why their father had become so furious about his offspring presenting themselves looking like a bunch of drowned rats after their fall in the lake. Despite his aloofness he had always been proud of his children and therefore he had wanted them to make the Baroness' acquaintance looking and behaving their best.

Liesl had felt bad about spoiling this moment for him and ashamed about the cold tone he used when introducing them to his guest. Therefore she had made her siblings change in record time and had shooed them down the stairs to sing for the Baroness.

In the middle of their song she had suddenly heard the warm baritone she had almost forgotten because he hadn't sung with them in years. Her father had joined the family choir – and as he stood in front of his children, smiling almost shyly, Liesl had known that something important had happened, that something close to a miracle had given them their loving father back.

Of course, Brigitta had been the first one to throw herself in his arms then. Her example had given Marta, Gretl and Louisa the courage to follow her.

From that day on the little ones had used every opportunity to cuddle with their father. And he had invited them to, opening his arms for goodnight kisses, ruffling their hair, or offering them a hand when they were walking together.

Only with Liesl he had remained rather shy. Sometimes he would twinkle at her and sometimes, but still rather seldom, he would touch her cheek. Only once there had been more: on the day of his wedding as handed Liesl the flowers for Maria, she had put her hand on his shoulder and, overwhelmed by her love for him, she had risen up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "I wish you every happiness, Father!"

For a few seconds he had stood ramrod straight, but then he had pulled her close, kissed her forehead and whispered: "Thank you, Liesl, thank you for everything!"

That had been all for the next years. When she would come home after an absence, she would always get hugs and kisses from Maria, but her father had restrained himself to a twinkle and stroking her cheek.

On their last walk together after a wonderful lunch they had started as usual with a good piece of distance between them. As they talked they had moved closer together, so close that their elbows had touched. On impulse, Liesl had shoved her hand in the crook of his arm. It had gotten her a little smile and then, after a few steps, her father had reached for her hand, closing his fingers protectively over hers. After a while even this hadn't been enough anymore – he had put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close while Liesl had wrapped her arm around his waist.

The next morning as she had said goodbye to him, he had opened his arms again, embracing her and holding her close while he kissed her forehead.

Liesl was glad she had spent those precious moments with him. Only it made it now even more painful to think that he would never hug her again, that she would never get a chance to sing the Rose aria for him, that he wouldn't lead her to the altar one day when she married. And what about her siblings? This morning she had told Maria that she wouldn't go back to New York, but would stay and help her bring up the little ones. Maria had immediately declined: "No, Liesl. Your father wouldn't have wanted that and I don't want it either. You won't waste your talent this way. I've got a lot of help here – Susan, Patricia, Louisa, Kurt and Brigitta. We'll manage, Liesl, and we'll always be happy when you come to visit us, but we certainly don't want you to give up your career."

"But don't send me away immediately!" Liesl had begged. "I want to stay at least until the baby is born. I need to be with my family now!"

Maria had hugged her. "Of course, darling. I wouldn't know what to do without you now."

The Admiral had finished his speech, and now the Secretary of the Navy had started and called Friedrich up to the stage. Liesl watched her brother in his white uniform with his cover under his arm bowing to the politician who presented him the Navy Cross in its open box. "In the honour and memory of Captain Georg von Trapp, I ask you to stand for a moment of silence."

Everyone stood, the men saluting and the women bowing their heads. Through her lashes Liesl saw that Commander Grammings, who had been her father's second in command, was swallowing hard while the red-headed Ensign at the end of the row looked as if he would start crying at any moment.

Then the speeches were finally done and Admiral Forrester had invited the guests to the nearby officers' club where drinks were served. There Liesl found herself suddenly surrounded by at least a dozen officers who wanted to tell her how much they had appreciated her father. And there was the red-headed Ensign who stammered: "I don't know how to say it, but I'm terribly sorry for your loss. The Captain was the best commander I ever served under – I mean, he actually was the first and only one, but I know I will never get a better one. Of course, he was very strict, but he was also fair and he never demanded more than he would have done himself. And you know, he was terribly proud of you. There was a picture of your family on the wall over his desk and sometimes during meals he spoke about you and your siblings. Your father was a great man and a true hero!"

His words touched Liesl and she thanked him with a smile, looking over to where Maria was sitting with Friedrich and both of the Admirals at her side. Liesl actually wanted to join her, but suddenly a tall man with soft blond hair and bright blue eyes approached her with a small bow. "I'm Lieutenant Finlay Carson from the USS Dallas. I don't think you've ever heard of me, but I know a lot about you, Baroness von Trapp."

Liesl was amazed to hear him use that title – most Americans didn't know about it, so she wasn't accustomed to it. Almost awkwardly she said: "Baroness von Trapp – that sounds as if you should talk to my Mother. For me, "Liesl" will do."

"Only if you call me Finlay!" He smiled at her and Liesl almost felt like blushing.

The blond young man – he hardly seemed older than twenty-five or twenty-six years – was almost too handsome for Liesl's taste. Although he was a bit lanky, he cut an imposing figure in his white uniform – his proud composure and the grace with which he moved caused it. And then there was his face with incredibly blue eyes, surrounded by long, dark eyelashes, a fine nose, and a generous, sensitive mouth over an energetic chin.

"I didn't know your father as well as I would have liked," he said now, his face serious and sad. "He was my neighbour in the officers' home at the base in Cyprus, and we spent three or four evenings together. You know, life at the base is rather boring. Most officers only spend time in their rooms to sleep and they hang out in the casino or the local pubs in their free time. I don't like going there – most pubs are too loud for my taste. I'm actually a musician …"

"Oh?" Liesl became curious. "What kind of musician?"

"Opera. Before I joined the navy, I was one of the junior directors of music in Chicago." He smiled. "And I know you're a singer, so we're actually colleagues."

"Only I'm not done with my studies yet," Liesl replied. "I suppose music was what got you in contact with my father?"

"Yes," Finlay Carson nodded and then chuckled quietly. "I'm sorry – I shouldn't laugh, not under these circumstances. But the story of how I became acquainted with your father _is_ rather funny."

"I'd very much like to hear it," Liesl said truthfully. "Only I'm afraid my mother wants to go home now." She waved to Friedrich who was looking at her. Then, biting her bottom lip, she added spontaneously, "I'd really would like to hear it. Would you like to come over to visit – perhaps after dinner?"

Now the cheeks of the young officer betrayed a bit of a blush. "Oh, I'd love to – but are you sure I wouldn't be disturbing you and your family?"

"Certainly not!" Liesl assured him. "I must run – but please, do come! We live at the end of Sycamore Road, number forty-two!"

* * *

When was "after dinner"? Liesl caught herself looking at her watch for the second time in the last ten minutes. It was a quarter after eight. Maria, feeling rather drained, had already retired a half hour earlier, the little ones were sleeping too, and Louisa and Kurt had disappeared into the stables. So it was only Liesl and Max – Brigitta probably was in bed with a book – and they were sitting on the porch because it was such a lovely night.

Max was sipping at a glass of old brandy and was now smiling at Liesl. "Who are you waiting for, Liesl?"

"Well, after the ceremony I met a young officer who had known father," Liesl looked at the road where a car was just passing. "He's actually a musician and because we didn't have much time to talk at the hall, I invited him over."

"A musician?" Max looked interested. "You're not talking about Finlay Carson-Fenswick?"

"You know him?"

"Of course I do. Before he joined the Navy, I was after him like a bear after the honeypot!" Max replied. "The boy is a rising star among young American conductors – a pupil of Mantini who has praised him highly. I would have liked to send him to London. He only needs a bit more experience in Europe and he'll become one of the great conductors."

Liesl was chewing on her bottom lip, feeling almost a bit silly. H had said "one of the junior directors of music in Chicago" so casually – but she should have known that the Chicago Opera was one of the leading theatres. One needed to be very good to become even "one of the junior directors of music" there. "Did you know that father met him, Uncle Max?" she asked.

"Yes, he told me so in a letter. He liked the young man and enjoyed the few hours he could spend with him."

"He never mentioned him to me," Liesl said thoughtfully.

"Well, you were never the most faithful writer," Max sipped at his glass again. "And your father always answered letters he received rather than starting one from scratch …" He interrupted himself, pointing with his chin to the jeep that had just come up the driveway to the house. "Here the prince comes – and I should go. I must write a few letters. Have a nice evening, Liesl."

Before Liesl could protest, he had taken his glass and disappeared into the house. Shaking her head Liesl got up and walked down the stairs to the jeep, which had just stopped.

Finlay Carson jumped out and bowed. "Liesl, I'm so sorry for being late, but when a Captain wants to talk a Lieutenant's ears off, one can hardly tell him to shut up. Am I still welcome or shall I come again another time?" He was looking almost pleadingly at Liesl, and she felt how deeply she was blushing.

There was something about this man she found almost irresistible. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to listen to his voice and to look into his blue eyes – and at the same time she felt almost ashamed of her wishes. Her father had just died! This really wasn't the right time to get too excited about a man who had probably only come because he felt obliged to her father!

Clearing her throat she said, "My mother and my younger siblings are already in bed, but I'd really like to hear your story. Would you like to sit on the porch with me? It's such a lovely evening!"

"Yes, it is – and your porch looks very inviting," he replied, walking up the stairs with her.

With a wave of her hand Liesl offered him one of the chairs. "Can I get you something to drink? Brandy or beer or wine or perhaps an iced tea?" She wasn't even sure if they had beer in the house – neither Maria, Max, nor she liked it.

"Iced tea sounds wonderful! You know, I grew up in the South – and there people always drink iced tea!" He was stretching his long legs and smiled up at her.

"Iced tea it is then. Just a moment!" Liesl smiled and opened the door to the house. Running to the kitchen, she took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge – Susan prepared some every day, knowing that the entire family loved it –, set it with two glasses on a tray and went out again. "Finlay," it was the first time this evening she had used his name, discovering that she really liked the sound of it, "did you have dinner? I could heat you some soup. And there's probably even some salad left."

"Thank you very much, but I just had a sandwich at the club." He helped her with the tray while she sat down again. "I grabbed it as I was leaving. You know, if there's one thing you learn in the Navy, it's to always get food when there's an opportunity for it."

"Is it that bad?" Liesl poured tea for him and for her in the glasses.

"No, no! Thanks for the tea." He sipped at it and smiled. "Hmm – very good. And as far as seamen's food is concerned: when we're on a mission, we're often under a silence order for days. That means that the kitchen only serves sandwiches – and you need to eat them when they're there because there's always at least one guy on the boat who manages to put down a dozen of them."

"Sounds like my brother Kurt! Father always called his stomach 'the bottomless pit,'" Liesl smiled. "You're a U-boat man too?"

"Yes. I serve on the USS Dallas, which is actually the sister ship of your father's Liberty," he answered. "That's why we were both in the officers' home when our boats were in port. You know, people serving on surface ships stay on the ship when they're in port. But submarines don't have regular quarters. The only one who gets a room of his own – a very small one – is the captain. All other people on board only have a bunk and a tiny closet. And even a bunk of one's own is an officers' privilege. The crew shares one bunk for two men. When one is on duty, the other sleeps."

"Ugh!" Liesl shuddered. "Sounds rather uncomfortable."

"It is – so we're always glad that we get regular quarters with real beds and a door to close when we're in port. We store our personal stuff there, and in my case my most important possession is a record player and some records. They're what got me acquainted with your father."

Liesl sipped at her tea too and was now leaning back. "Do tell me how you met him!" she begged him.

"The long or the short version?" He twinkled at her, but suddenly became serious and leaned forward slightly. For a moment Liesl thought he would take her hand, but then he folded his and only looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you don't mind talking about your father? I'd hate to cause you more pain."

"You wouldn't!" Liesl assured him, touched by his concern. "I want to know how he lived over these last months. You know, my family is very close-knit. Therefore I always thought it rather odd that there is," she blushed and corrected herself, swallowing, "_was_ a part of my father's life that none of us – except perhaps my brother Friedrich, that is – knew about."

"In that case you'll get the long version!" Finlay Carson was smiling again. "It started when I moved into the officers' home. Or was it even before?" He ruffled his hair. "Yes, there's something you must know before: Your father is," now it was his turn to correct himself, "_was_ a legend among U-boat men. Even before he joined the American Navy, we all knew his name because we had all learned about his heroics during World War I. There's even something called 'the Trapp manoeuvre' – it's hanging your boat up at its periscope. Your father was the one who discovered that it is possible and practised it to perfection …"

"Hanging up your boat on its periscope?" Liesl repeated with a raised eyebrow. "I shouldn't understand that, should I?"

"Certainly not – it's a rather complicated trick, but it works fine when you have to wait silently near the surface," the young officer explained. "Anyway, one learns about that at the academy and one also learns who developed the manoeuvre. So you can probably imagine how excited we all were when we heard that the legendary Captain von Trapp was to command the Liberty and would be stationed in Cyprus too. Only my captain had a little problem with it: Knowing that your father was a bit older than the other officers and was also a family man, he guessed that Captain von Trapp wouldn't take it too kindly if he were disturbed in the middle of the night by a drunken colleague coming back from the pub singing loudly. And my captain likes partying a lot, and he was the one who actually had the room next to your father's. So he asked me to switch with him."

"It was probably better that way," Liesl smiled. "My father certainly wouldn't have been amused by a loud neighbour."

"Well, so it was me who got the room next to him – and I liked it, not only because I wanted to meet him, but because I hoped he'd be a quiet neighbour too."

"I think he was, wasn't he?" Liesl looked out at the meadow where the two stallions were standing. "I can hardly imagine my father drunk and singing loudly."

"It certainly wouldn't have been his style," Finlay confirmed.

"So you got your quiet neighbour," Liesl wanted to hear more and not only because the story interested her, but because she liked listening to Finlay's soft voice.

"Not immediately – during my first and second stays in the officers' home he wasn't there. Around that time our boats didn't operate simultaneously. As we came back to Cyprus for the third time, we were once again the only submarine docked next to the carrier ship, so I thought I'd missed your father once more. My first night back I spent sleeping, as always, but on my second night – believing I'd be alone in this corner of the house – I dressed comfortably and turned on my record player: Mozart's 'Don Giovanni,' an old favourite of mine. I must admit I let it play rather loudly – as I've said: I thought I was alone. Suddenly someone knocked on my door. I thought it must be one of my mates – sometimes they still try to persuade me to go out for a drink. Imagine my shock as I opened my door to see the legendary Captain von Trapp standing there! I was sure I was in for a severe telling-off and so, before he could even open his mouth, I apologized and assured him that I'd immediately switch the music off and wouldn't bother him anymore."

"Only he didn't want you to switch it off?" Liesl asked with a smile. "Father loved Mozart, and 'Don Giovanni' was one of his favourites too. He could even sing the Register aria."

"Really? He never told me. I only knew that his wife and his children – especially you and one of your brothers – were very talented singers," Finlay said.

"We inherited the talent from him. Father isn't too bad of a singer himself. His voice wasn't full enough for a professional, but he had a good range and a nice timbre. Besides – perhaps just because he didn't have much volume – he was really good in coloratura. He had a very pliable voice and he did Bach and Händel very well," Liesl told him – and had to fight back tears because she remembered how much she had loved to sing with her father.

"Too bad I never heard him sing. Did you do duets with him?" Finlay asked.

"Rarely," Liesl replied and swallowed again. "We once did a piece from 'Rigoletto' together, but mostly it was my mother he sang with. She's got a wonderful lyric soprano which suited his baritone better than my voice. I mostly was too loud for him."

"Nevertheless I would have liked to hear you together."

Liesl looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling very sad again. Quietly she said, "I always dreamed of doing a duet with him again – perhaps for Mother's birthday."

Now Finlay was bending over the table and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Liesl – I shouldn't have reminded you. It must hurt terribly…"

For a few seconds Liesl only looked down at his hands, lying protectively over hers. Then she raised her head. "It hurts, but I think it would hurt even worse not to talk about him. I lost my birth mother when I was twelve years old. In the first years after her death, no one, not even our servants, talked about her anymore. It often made me so mad. It felt as if everyone around would try to deny that she'd ever lived. Yet I wanted her to be remembered, and I wanted at least to keep her memory alive."

Finlay studied her face. "You feel that way about your father now?"

"Yes, I do. And I think Maria – that's my stepmother – feels it too."

"Then let's talk about your father!" Finlay let her hand go, reached for his glass again and leaned back. "I'll tell you all about the little time we spent together, and then you'll tell me more about him."

"Yes, you weren't done with your story. How did he react when you offered to switch the music off?" Liesl asked.

"He told me he'd actually come to ask for the opposite. He wanted me to keep the music on and open the door so that he could listen to it too. He hadn't had an opportunity to hear music in a while, so he was eager for some Mozart. I felt rather shy – you remember the legend thing, right? – but I dared to invite him in. At first he was reluctant – he said he didn't want to invade my privacy. But I managed to persuade him, and so we spent our first evening together – quietly, not talking much, but listening to 'Don Giovanni.'"

"I take it you invited him again?" Liesl asked.

"Yes, I did. Two days later I met him at breakfast. He invited me to join him at his table and we talked about music. He told me he liked Schumann's symphonies, and I asked him to come over and listen to the Rheinische with me. In the evening he came and brought a bottle of wine with him. We listened to the record and talked – though I must admit it was mostly me who did the talking. You know, your father was a very private and kind of reserved man."

Liesl nodded and filled Finlay's empty glass. "Yes – he wasn't easy to approach and always needed some time before he opened up to someone. Actually the only person who was ever able to get through his reserve quickly was Mother – I mean, Maria, my stepmother."

"How long did it take?" Finlay asked and got a chuckle for an answer.

"Well, she actually only needed two days to draw him out of his aloofness," Liesl replied, still smiling. "She came to our house as our governess. At that time Father was rarely at home. He left again on our new governess' second morning in the house."

"He must have trusted her a lot to leave her alone with his children after only one day," Finlay said.

Once again the memory of those days made Liesl giggle. "I actually don't think so. Of course, in a way he trusted her – or rather he trusted where she came from. Mother had been a postulant in an abbey and her Reverend Mother sent her to us after my siblings and I had driven twelve governesses away in only four years. Father asked the Reverend Mother for a new one – he probably thought that someone would need a nun's patience and devotion to bear with the little monsters he'd sired. But Maria certainly wasn't what he'd wanted. She was much too young, too headstrong and too outspoken for his taste. That was how she pulled him out of his reserve so quickly. When they met for only the third time – after he'd returned from his trip – not ten minutes had passed and they were already yelling at each other."

"Sounds as if they reacted rather passionately to each other." Finlay smiled.

"You think so?" Liesl had never thought of that before, but it made sense. "You're probably right. I mean, they loved each other very much and were a great couple. But when their tempers clashed – puuh, it was always rather loud then."

"As I said: a passionate couple. Although I must say when your father spoke of your mother it was touching. I remember one evening – our fourth, if memory doesn't fail me. We were listening to Schumann songs. There was one that was obviously very special to your father – the Widmung."

Liesl nodded and quietly started to sing: "That you love me makes me worthy of you; your gaze transfigures me …" Smiling she said, "It was one of Father's favourites."

"Yes, he told me so." Finlay played with his glass. "As he did so – you can call me a sentimental fool, but the way he looked then touched me. I sort of envied him at that moment not only for having a woman who was able to make him feel so loved, but also for being able to love so much himself." Finlay sipped at his tea. "When we met the next time, he invited me to his room for a game of chess. He had a picture of your family on his desk. You're in it, holding your youngest brother in your lap – and, you know, you look very lovely in that photograph. Your father told me then that you were a soprano, and we joked that I'd like to conduct you once after the war. And he warned me that I shouldn't try flirting with you because he's such a protective father that he rakes all of your admirers through the coals. And that you had a lot of them."

"Oh no!" Liesl sighed. "He was exaggerating! He thought every boy who came to see me – even if it was only to borrow my mathematic homework – was an admirer."

"I think he was right – or were you in a school for the blind and the deaf?" Finlay smiled. "I can't imagine someone looking at you and listening to you without becoming an admirer."

"Now you're exaggerating too!" Liesl felt herself blushing hotly.

"No, I'm not!" Finlay insisted. "But I should apologize – you're mourning for your father and invited me over to talk about him. I shouldn't take advantage of your kindness by bothering you with my feelings."

"I don't feel bothered," Liesl assured him. "And I even don't think my father would have. He obviously liked you or he wouldn't have spent time with you."

Now Finlay looked awkward. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. You know, there's something odd about U-boat men. We live very close together on our submarines. There isn't any privacy for most of us, not even much for the captain. With only one bathroom for around fifty people you can't avoid shaving in front of each other, and with no room for yourself you have to dress in front of your comrades, you share your meals with them, you even write private letters with someone sitting so close to you that you sometimes can't avoid touching him. But this kind of closeness causes most of us to become reserved about sharing more privacy, so that on board most men hardly talk about their life at home, their wives and their families. You feel as if you need to protect at least that part of your life. Not sharing your thoughts like that can sometimes make you feel rather lonely – and not even men as strong as your father are entirely immune to that. So meeting someone who is in a way a 'kindred spirit' – and even if it's just that you share your love of music with him – makes you enjoy the other's company and come closer to him than you probably would have if you had met him in peacetime." He shrugged his shoulders. "That sounded a bit confused, didn't it?"

"It didn't," Liesl replied firmly. "Father told me something similar once. I still think that he liked you. Oh, by the way, he mentioned your acquaintance to his best friend. He wouldn't have done so if you hadn't meant something to him."

"Mr. Detweiler!" Finlay was smiling. "We thought it rather funny that we both knew him – though I must admit at first I was puzzled about it. Mr. Detweiler isn't exactly what one would have imagined as your father's best friend."

"You don't like him?" Liesl couldn't avoid sounding a bit cold. Uncle Max was very dear to her and the thought of Finlay not seeing through his superficial façade to recognize the sensitive, deep-feeling man under it didn't sit well with her.

"Oh no – I like him and appreciate him very much," Finlay replied quickly. "Max Detweiler isn't only a great musician himself, but one of the best impresarios around. He really cares about his clients and he treats them fairly. He wants to help them become as great as possible. Of course, his clients' success isn't to his disadvantage, but he's shown often enough that he doesn't only use them. I hope I can get him to be my agent when the war is over."

Liesl smiled at him. "I think he'd like that – and I hope that I'll become his client too someday."

"Aren't you already?"

"No, not really," Liesl blushed a bit. "At the moment I'm just the goddaughter he looks after."

"Having Max Detweiler for a godfather certainly is an advantage for a singer!" Finlay stated. "You know, I very much look forward to hearing you once."

"Figaro in Salzburg? With you as the conductor?" Liesl replied with a smile.

"Yes – let's do that after the war, shall we? You'll sing the Contessa, right? And all during the rehearsals and the production I will envy the Conte because he gets a chance to kiss you!"

* * *

Once again Maria sat at her favourite place on the windowsill, looking out to the yard where just a few moments before Finlay Carson's car had stood. Over the last week he had spent every evening with Liesl and now he had managed to persuade her – with Maria's help – to go out to dinner with him.

Maria was glad that he had come into Liesl's life. The poor girl had been so miserable after learning about Georg's death. Finlay was certainly helping her a lot – and he wasn't only a handsome and intelligent young man, but a nice one too. Besides it was clear to see that he had fallen for Liesl – and that she was in love with him too, but at first Liesl had felt bad about it.

"How can I fall in love only a few days after losing my father? It looks as if I didn't care about him!" she had told Maria.

"I don't see the connection there," Maria had answered. "You loved your father dearly – but that has nothing to do with the feelings you're developing for Lieutenant Carson now."

"What would father think about it?"

"Oh, that's a tricky question. You know he always was a bit jealous of the young men in your life," Maria had replied. "But he liked this young man – so probably in this case he wouldn't have complained."

Or would he have? Maria remembered only too well how worried he had always been about Liesl. He had known how vulnerable and sensitive his oldest daughter was. On the other hand, Finlay seemed to be rather perceptive himself. And he was a musician. Didn't that make him someone who wouldn't only understand Liesl, but would also appreciate her? Maria knew that their love for music had formed a strong bond between Georg and her. And hadn't it even been music, the singing of his children, that had once drawn him out of his grief and back to his children?

"Not all musicians are pleasant to be around. Great artists are often rather egotistical." It was as if Maria had heard Georg's voice in her head and it made her roll her eyes and answer him in her mind: "Darling, are you sure you're not jealous of Finlay? You never thought any young man was good enough for your Liesl."

Suddenly she became aware of what she had been doing and swallowed. After Georg had gone to Europe, she had often spoken with him in her mind. Actually she had done it almost every day and she had always felt as if she were close to him then.

Once she had written him about it, despite finding it rather silly. "You know, it feels to me as if there is a connection between us, as if a part of you is with me and I can reach out to you this way."

His answer had surprised her. She had really been afraid that he would find her a bit mad, but then she had read his words: "Of course there is a part of me that is always with you: my heart. You're its keeper and it will stay with you as long as I breathe, think and feel."

Wrapping her arms around herself – she suddenly felt rather chilly – Maria closed her eyes and concentrated on how she remembered her husband on the last night they had spent together. He had lain in his favourite position: one arm behind his head, the other around her, his hair a bit tousled after their lovemaking, his eyes beaming and a tender smile playing around his lips, slightly swollen by her kisses. Tears were welling up in her eyes and she whispered in the dark: "I miss you so much, Georg!"

And then it was again as if she could hear him in her mind. It was his voice and it said, "I'll come back, Maria. I promised I would, remember?"

For a moment Maria became almost furious. What kind of trick was her mind playing on her? Georg was dead! He wouldn't come back, he wouldn't keep his promise, not this time. He had fallen into Zeller's hands and there wasn't a chance his old archenemy would have let him get away. Georg would never smile at her again, he would never kiss her again, he wouldn't see their child that kicked inside her. He was dead, and she was alone.

"Maria!" It was if he had called her and she put her hands over her ears. Was she going to go mad? How could she hear her dead husband's voice in her mind? "Trust me – I'll come back to you!"

Dear God! Why did she have to suffer through that? Wasn't it bad enough that she had lost Georg and hadn't even been granted a place at which to mourn him? She would never have thought it possible that it would bother her so much, but over the last few days she had often wished that there were at least a grave she could visit.

Admiral Forrester had told her there would be a plaque with Georg's name on it on the wall of the Naval cemetery soon – but what was a plaque when Maria needed a grave to bring flowers to?

But there hadn't been a body. Georg had died – and no one knew where or when or what had become of his body. Until now Maria hadn't dared to think about it. Of course, as a Christian she knew that the body was only a vessel for the soul. And what had the priest said? "I'm sure your husband's soul is with our Father in heaven now." What did his body matter then?

Only Maria had loved his body too. She had marvelled at its strength and warmth; she had known it almost as well as her own body; she had loved to touch it and kiss it. The thought of this body – no, she really couldn't think about it. She didn't want to. She would keep her memories as they were – Georg in his pyjama trousers, holding Barbara on his naked chest, laughing because his daughter had pulled at the hair there; Georg on his horse, his face all concentration; Georg in his uniform – as she had seen him first in the Navy's summer whites it had almost taken her breath away. There had only been one uniform that had suited him better: the Austrian blue dress uniform in which he had married her, looking like the dashing hero out of a girl's dream.

Conversano Theokratia was just trotting across his meadow, his body glimmering in the moonlight like silver. Now he stood at the fence, head up and ears erect as if he was waiting for someone. During the last several nights he had often stood there like that, looking lost and sad. Maria was sure that he felt that something bad had happened to his owners. Even Pluto Bona, normally the more robust stallion, had noticed it. In better times rather impatient and more interested in carrots then in tender touches, he had become quiet and docile too. Whenever Maria came close to him, he stayed still until she petted him. Conversano Theokratia even replied to her touches. She had long ago lost her fear of him and had learned to enjoy his company. Over the last nights when sleep had eluded her she had visited him, hugging his neck and laying her head against his silken warmth. And he had always turned his face to her, softly and tenderly nibbling at her hand or blowing his warm breath towards her.

She remembered how Georg had once told her about meeting the stallion for the first time when he was only a two-week-old colt. "Even then he was already something special. I immediately wanted to buy him, but he had already been selected to go to the Spanish Riding School." And then Georg had laughed. "The mext time he upsets me with his tricks instead of showing a proper levade, remind me that his tricks are what got me him. If he would have learned the movements as he was supposed to, the Spanish Riding School would never have given him away."

Maria slipped down from the windowsill and went to the kitchen where she took an apple and a carrot out of the pantry. On the porch stood her boots, ready for her to slip into them, and she did so, then walked across the yard to the pasture. Pluto Bona obviously was in the stable, sleeping, so Conversano Theokratia was alone for once. As he heard Maria's step on the stones of the yard, his ears started to twitch. And then, when Maria was only five feet away from him, he bowed his head and opened his mouth. Maria stopped, staring at him in amazment. He was grumbling, a soft sound coming from deep within his chest.

She had heard this grumble before – only not in the last months. While Pluto Bona was the talkative one, greeting every member of the family with loud whinnying, Conversano Theokratia had always been quiet. He only greeted two people: Louisa with a deep, quiet whinny and Georg with the soft rumble.

Now for the first time ever he had greeted Maria with it, and stepping closer to him, she took his head and leaned her face against it. "You miss him too, don't you?" she whispered. "And you know what, beautiful one? Tonight I feel like I'm going mad. It's as if a part of him wants to be with me again. But that can't be, can it?" Once again the stallion grumbled – and it sounded as if he wanted to say something. Then he turned around and started to canter, his long tail and mane rippling in the wind. He stopped at the opposite side of the meadow, for a moment just watching Maria. Turning once again, he came towards her – first a few steps in his fastest trot, then slowing down to a very slow, hovering trot – the _passage_. Finally in front of Maria, he stopped moving forward but trotted with high steps on the spot – _piaffe_, the lesson Georg had loved so much to perform on him.

But Maria almost couldn't see the stallion anymore, her eyes were so blinded by tears. Once again she had heard Georg in her mind, laughing cheerfully: "Conversano Theokratia is such a show off!"

Now he had once again shown off as in his best days – and as if his beloved rider had been with Maria.

To be continued


	12. Chapter 12

Amor vincit omnia

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Once again thanks to Trapper, my super quick and hard-working beta.

_**Chapter **__**12: The lonely goatherd **_

October 1942

Someone felt terrible, as if every bone in his body had been broken and his head had been used as a punching bag. And there was a vile taste in someone's mouth and the attempt to open his eyes made someone almost sick.

Georg wondered who this someone was and how he had gotten himself into such a terrible state. And why did he feel the pain of this someone so keenly? Just a minute before he had lain in Maria's arms, looking up at the wonderful blue sky over the Untersberg. He had been so content, so happy – and now he felt as if he had been trampled by a herd of elephants!

"Ah, waking up again? Well, then it's probably time for you to have lunch. What will it be today? Three spoonfuls of milk or perhaps even four?"

A boy's voice and it spoke Hungarian? And now Georg felt how a spoon touched his dry lips and he opened his mouth.

"Yes, that's right – and now be a good sport and swallow! You know, I'd like you to wake up soon – really wake up, I mean. You're a pretty boring companion just lying around here all the time. On the other hand, you were speaking German in your fever. I'm probably crazy to be nursing a German –you'll probably get me in trouble when you become conscious again …"

Georg would have liked to answer, but he was too busy swallowing the milk the boy had spooned into his mouth. It was an exhausting task and he had to fight hard to not immediately fall asleep again.

"So, here we go with your second spoonful!" the boy said. "You know, you're actually looking better today – of course, you still won't be winning any beauty contests. I really wonder who beat you up so bad. I mean, you're a German, but you're not a Jew – sorry for saying so, but I'm the one who took care of _all_ of your needs over the last few days, so I couldn't help noticing it. With my luck you're probably a Nazi who got in trouble with the locals. Maybe I should have let you drown out there, but I fish here and I really wouldn't want to eat a fish that had eaten _you_." The boy fed the third spoonful of milk to Georg, chuckling. "My father always said Nazis are pigs – so a fish who has fed on a Nazi probably isn't kosher anymore."

The fourth spoonful came too quickly. Georg couldn't swallow it properly and started to cough. It felt as if something was going to explode in his chest, and almost gratefully he felt himself passing out again.

* * *

The next time Georg awoke, he felt someone – the boy? – covering him with something that smelled bad. Yet it was warm, and Georg was glad because he had never before felt so cold in his life.

"My, my, you're really good at keeping a fellow entertained!" the boy was complaining. "First you sweat for days and are so feverish that even the cat doesn't want to keep you company any more; now you're obviously freezing like an Eskimo out of his igloo. But you're in luck – the last storm left behind a lot of driftwood, so we can have a nice fire."

It cost Georg a lot of strength, but this time he managed to open his eyes. First he could only see shadows – a wall, a small figure that was just putting something into a little fire. There was a strong smell – goats, Georg realized. Somewhere close, there were goats. And then there was a purr and something soft and furry grazed against his cheek. Green eyes glimmered – it was a cat, and it snuck under the blanket the boy had covered Georg with.

His body still hurt, but his head had become clearer and so had his sight. He took in more now: he was in some kind of hut with only one small window. And there was a boy of around 12 or 13 years who sat cross-legged next to him, cuddling another cat that he held in his arms.

Georg tried to clear his throat. He wanted to ask the boy where they were, but his voice wouldn't obey him. He only produced a croaking sound, but it was enough to make the boy look at him.

"Hey, you're finally awake!" he said and then sighed. "Only you probably don't understand Hungarian, Nazi! Well," he got up, took a mug from a board and filled it with water from a can, "have something to drink all the same." He came to Georg, knelt down next to him and shoved his free hand under his neck. With surprising gentleness he helped Georg lift his head while he put the cup to his mouth.

Georg drank greedily and tried to speak once again. In Hungarian he said, his voice very hoarse and weak: "I'm no Nazi!"

"But you spoke German!" the boy responded accusingly.

"I'm an Austrian!" Georg managed to get out.

"There is no Austria anymore!" said the boy.

If his chest hadn't been hurting so badly, Georg probably would have laughed about the absurdity of the situation. "You want to discuss politics?"

"No. I want to know who you are," the boy replied. "Are you a monk? Or a priest?"

"Should I be?" Georg retorted. He still didn't feel up to thinking much, but he at least knew that he didn't want to say too much about himself without knowing where he was.

"You kept calling for Maria in your fever," the boy told him. "So I just thought you might be a priest or a monk – I mean, if you're not a Nazi."

"My wife's name is Maria." Georg closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of sadness. He was so far away from his Maria!

"You're married? But you're not wearing a wedding band!" The boy sounded suspicious.

Georg fought against the tiredness that was almost overwhelming him again. His mouth had become dry again and he croaked, "Could I have more water?"

"Of course – you probably need a lot. You sweated a ton over the last few days." The boy had filled the mug again and helped Georg to drink.

"Thank you!" Georg sank back and tried to smile. "You're very kind. What's your name?"

The boy looked as if he wasn't sure about giving this information to a stranger, but then he smiled. "I'm Stephan. What's yours?"

For a moment Georg was tempted to use his alias again, but then he remembered that he had already said he was Austrian. "My name's Georg."

"Nice to meet you, Georg." The boy filled the mug once more. "Here – have another drink. Or would you rather have some milk or something to eat? I've got bread and cheese and there's some fish left. I could make a soup for you. You should eat something, you know? You haven't had more than a few drops of milk since I fished you out of the sea."

"How long have I been here?" Georg asked.

"A week," Stephan answered and got up once again, taking a pot from a shelf, filling it with water and hanging it over the fire. "I'm going to make you some soup. I don't think your stomach could deal with more."

"Stephan …" Georg had tried to raise his head, but gave up because it hurt too much. "Where is here?"

"'Here' is the monk's island. It's pretty small – you can walk all the way around it in an hour. It's nice though – it's got a pretty cove, lots of trees, a well with fresh water, and mostly lots of driftwood in the cove," Stephan said while putting some herbs in the water.

"And you live here on your own?" Georg asked.

"Yes," Stephan answered simply. "It's me, my goats – five of them – two cats, some rats, a lot of mice, some ducks and a few other birds. I think tomorrow I'll go and catch some pigeons – they make for a good soup." He had gotten a fish out of a bucket and started to cut it in pieces.

"How does a boy from Hungary come to live here?" Georg wondered. "I take it you're Jewish, aren't you?"

"You don't like Jews?" There was an edge in Stephan's voice.

"Ridiculous!" Georg said as firmly as he could. "The only people I dislike for their beliefs are Nazis."

"Does this mean they're the ones who beat you up so bad? Did you oppose them?"

"Yes and yes," Georg was very tired again. The little talk had utterly exhausted him, and he almost couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.

Stephan seemed to notice it. Smiling he said, "Your soup will need to cook for at least half an hour. Why don't you take another nap until it's ready? I'll wake you up."

* * *

Three days later Georg was able to sit up and to even do more: Helped by Stephan he had gotten to his feet and hopped – his left knee was badly hurt and he couldn't stand on it – out of the hut to relieve himself behind a bush. Yet this little excursion had cost him so much strength, he had fallen asleep immediately afterwards.

Now he was awake again. Stephan wasn't there, but he had left a message, using a piece of coal and writing on the wall: "Gone fishing – don't worry. S."

Over the last few days Georg had learned a lot about his young companion. Stephan had spent almost half a year alone on the island, and now he enjoyed talking to someone. He had told Georg all about his life: that he had been born the second child – there had been one sister, two years his senior, called Katia – to a doctor and his wife in Budapest 13 years previously. He had grown up in a nice house in Pest where his father had had his physician practice, wanting to become a doctor himself.

When the Nazis had come to Budapest, Stephan and his family had fled into the country, hiding for half a year on the farm of a former patient. There Stephan had learned to deal with goats and other animals and how to fish – they had been close to the river Thisza.

However, the idyll hadn't lasted. Someone had betrayed the family to the Nazis, and so they had fled again, this time out of the country towards the Adriatic coast where a friend of Stephan's father lived. But upon arriving there, they had learned that the friend was dead. A few days later the family had been caught by the Nazis. Only Stephan, pushed away by his father and ordered to run, had managed to escape.

Searching for a hiding place he had gone to a little port where he had found a fishing boat to sleep in, but he had been discovered by the old fisherman who owned the boat. After Stephan had told him his story, the old man had proven to be a kind soul. He hadn't dared to hide Stephan himself, but he had gotten him to the island where an old monk lived with a few goats. The monk had taken Stephan in, and Stephan had helped him with fishing, the goats, and making cheese. Once a week his friend, the old fisherman, came and got the cheese to take it to the local market and brought the monk and the boy bread and other necessities.

Other people never came to the island. "Father Marian – the monk – had gotten rather odd. The people on the mainland thought he was mad and even dangerous. So they didn't dare come here," Stephan had recounted.

After living with the old monk for almost a year, the old man had fallen ill but had firmly refused to leave his island. So Stephan had nursed him until the old monk died. "Slatko – that's my fisherman – and I buried him, and then we decided that Slatko wouldn't tell people about his death. Slatko still comes every other week – mostly at night when he's on his way back from one of his fishing trips. He gives me with everything I need. He says the Nazis won't stay forever and when they're gone, I can go back to the mainland. Maybe I can even go back to Hungary then. You know, Georg, I want to go back to school. I never liked it when I was there, but now I'd really like learning something. And you know what I miss most? Books! Slatko can't get me books – he never bought one in his life because he can hardly read. If he went to a bookshop, people would get suspicious."

Georg liked listening to the boy. Stephan wasn't only kind, he was also very bright – and of course, he reminded Georg of his sons. They were brave and tough too, and Georg didn't doubt that they also would be able to come through such a situation on their own.

However, Georg wasn't sure if Friedrich or Kurt would have done as well as Stephan in tending an injured man. Stephan had told Georg that he had found him at the beach ten days earlier, unconscious, feverish and bleeding. The boy had pulled him out of the water and, working for hours at the task, had succeeded in dragging him up to the old hut where he lived. There he had tended to Georg's wounds, washing them and covering them with leaves he had collected. "You know, my father was very interested in herbs and plants for medicinal purposes. He told me a lot about it, so I know that these leaves will help you heal."

He had even found some herbs that were known to help lessen fevers and he had brewed tea for Georg, feeding it to him with a spoon.

Georg was sure that Stephan had saved his life. He remembered now that he had hoped to reach an island to hide out on after he jumped out of Zeller's car. He even remembered that he had swam for what had seemed like hours. But one thing he was sure of: without Stephan he wouldn't have survived.

The only problem was that Georg had literally missed his boat. Stephan kept a calendar by cutting a notch every day into a piece of wood, and he had told Georg that he had been unconscious for an entire week. Now he had been awake for five days – that meant that twelve days had passed since his capture. So it was now October 22 – and the USS Liberty, after waiting in vain for her captain in the cove behind Trogir on the 14th, was now certainly back in Cyprus.

Georg had been an officer long enough to know what had happened then: his first officer had reported that Georg hadn't arrived at the rendezvous point. The Admiral had then informed intelligence – and though Georg, like most seamen, had never liked spies much, he didn't doubt their efficiency. They had people in Trogir, and so they had certainly found out that he had been captured by Zeller. That meant a stamp on the cover of his file: "Missing, presumed dead."

The rest was routine: Following the general order for such cases, his superior officer was to inform the relatives of the missing man "ASAP and in an appropriate manner," which normally meant that the superior called the American base where the missing man had been stationed (and where his family lived) to send out someone "of the same rank or superior" to inform the family. If the missing man had been a member of a large church, a priest or pastor was designated for this task.

Knowing his admiral, Georg was sure that, in this case, he hadn't followed the orders to the letter. He had certainly asked his wife to talk to Maria.

As comforting as it was to know that there were friends caring for her, it didn't change the fact that Maria believed him to be dead now. It had certainly been a great shock to her – and how had she taken it in her condition? In her last letter she had told him happily about the baby in her belly kicking constantly. "And the doctor says it isn't only a very lively child, but a real chunk too. Therefore Pittypat supposes now that 'it' isn't a Phillip as our sons hope, but a Philippa – she says girls are generally bigger than boys."

Georg certainly didn't care if the baby was a Phillip or a Philippa – as long as it was healthy and didn't come too early. It was due in four weeks – and he intended to let Maria know before then that he was alive.

The only question was: how? He was sure that there was still an American submarine out there, patrolling the Adriatic coast. At the moment it probably was the Liberty's sister ship, the USS Dallas. Besides there was the HMS (1) Duchess of York, an English submarine that controlled the entrance to the Adriatic sea. And in the Ionic sea were at least a dozen American and English surface ships stationed to fight the Germans and the Italians. But how to reach them? It was maddening to know that the Dallas, perhaps, was near this island – her captain working with the maps Georg had prepared, using the routes the Liberty had mapped out, and so she probably passed Monk's Island once a fortnight.

Of course he knew the Dallas' signal. Unfortunately he couldn't use it – if he were to send out light signals, the chances that they would be seen by a German or Italian surface ship were much higher than the chances that the Dallas was nearby and just at the surface. Even if he spent the nights watching the sea – the USS Dallas was there to see and not _be seen_! Her captain was an experienced man too. He certainly wouldn't surface and show his boat in bright moonlight close to an island. Instead he would wait to surface in bad weather and would only do so at a distance to the islands and the mainland.

There was only one option: Georg needed a boat himself. He needed to leave the island and to sail towards Malta, using the routes he had worked out for his submarine. On them he would have a chance to meet the Dallas or the Duchess of York, and even if he missed them, towards Malta he would sooner or later meet an American or English surface ship.

It was a good plan. There were only two drawbacks: he didn't have a boat, and even if he could persuade Stephan's fisherman to help him get one, at the moment he certainly wasn't up to sailing. In spite of Stephan's nursing he had lost a lot of weight and still suffered from his injuries. Even with Stephan's help he was hardly able to stand upright, let alone walk. As much as he hated the thought, before he could try to leave the island, he needed to give his body time to heal. Three weeks he supposed – or perhaps a few days less if he started to train as soon as possible. He would ask Stephan to get him something like crutches as soon as possible. And he would eat as much as he could though he didn't have much of an appetite. He needed strength, and that meant he needed to gain weight again.

* * *

"Darling Liesl, you mustn't worry so much! She's in good hands and they'll know how to take care of her and the baby!" Finlay Carson reached for Liesl's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

Liesl looked up at him, her blue eyes full of tears. "The Lord can't be this cruel," she whispered.

"What are you talking about?" Finlay inquired.

Liesl swallowed. "He couldn't make us lose her too!"

"Elisabeth von Trapp!" Finlay sounded severe. "I forbid you to think such morbid thoughts! Your mother is young and healthy. She'll make it through and so will the baby!"

Liesl didn't answer. Instead she stared at the door bearing the inscription "Surgery – Authorized personnel only!"

How long had they been sitting now in front of this door? To Liesl it seemed like an eternity, but a look at the clock on the wall told her that only two hours had passed since they arrived at the hospital, Finlay carrying a rather weak Maria in his arms.

Actually the evening had started out so nicely! Maria had invited Finlay over for a farewell dinner – the next morning at ten o'clock he was to go back to Cyprus – and afterwards they had all gone into the living room. Finlay had played the piano and Liesl had sung for Maria – and Maria, her hands stroking her belly, had even smiled as Liesl had performed a Bach aria for her.

Then, suddenly, Maria's expression had changed. She had paled and gotten up to go to the bathroom. But a minute later she had called for Liesl, sounding terrified. She had been bleeding heavily.

Liesl had wanted to call an ambulance, but Finlay had been quicker. Wrapping Maria in a warm blanket, he had picked her up, carried her to his car, and commanded Liesl to hold her while he drove to the hospital.

In a way, Liesl had been totally surprised not only by his action, but also by the calm and collected way he had dealt with the situation. She had spent every night of the last week in his company and had believed she already knew him rather well. In her opinion he was a very sensitive, sometimes rather dreamy artist who often got lost in his thoughts. She had already started to wonder how someone like him could serve as a military officer. He was so soft-spoken, so tender, and so romantic!

However, now she had seen another side of him – commanding, decided, strong. She had understood that this characteristic in him certainly made for a fine officer – and a great conductor too.

And yes, she was in love with him. As inappropriate as it seemed to her to feel so happy only a few days after her father's death she couldn't help it. Finlay was the man she had waited for; he was everything she had dreamed of and a smile from him was enough to make her heart sing with joy. After Rolf she had thought she would never trust a man again, and she hadn't wanted to fall in love once more. But Finlay wasn't like Rolf. He wasn't a boy who wanted to appear strong and was therefore running around in a silly uniform. Finlay, 28 years old, was a real man and a brave one who had gone to war to fight for his convictions. In a way he reminded Liesl of her father – and no, she certainly didn't think that was bad – except that Finlay was more outspoken and emotional than her always-reserved father.

And Finlay loved her! He had told her so on their third evening together and on the next he had kissed her and it had felt as if she had finally found what she had always been searching for.

However, there was one dark cloud hanging over her young love. On that third evening when he told her that he had fallen in love with her, he had looked rather miserable. "If only I had met you earlier – or later, perhaps in two or three years after the war," he had said. "At the moment I shouldn't talk to you about love."

"Why not?" Liesl had asked him. "Is it about the war?"

He had shaken his head and turned away, looking out at the sea. After a while he had started to speak again: "Six years ago I made a big mistake. I fell in love with a dancer. It was a whirlwind romance – we met, fell in love, got engaged and only three months after our we first met we eloped."

"You're married?" Liesl had gasped.

"Only on paper!" Finlay had assured her. "Wendy – that's my wife – and I only needed half a year to discover that we don't suit one another. She wants the proverbial little house with the white picket fence in a nice suburb and children while I – I mean, I like children and I want to have some, but not now! I certainly don't intend to spend my entire life as the second director of music in Chicago and I certainly don't want to become a professor of music at some college in Little Boredom, Arkansas. I want to work in the big opera houses. I want to do Bruckner with the Vienna philharmonic orchestra and I want to conduct one day in Bayreuth!"

"Your wife doesn't approve of your plans?"

"Certainly not. She hates travelling and wants a quiet life. That's why we separated after only five months. I moved out and lived with my brother for a few months. He's a professor of history in England, but at the moment he works as a diplomat at his majesty's embassy in Washington. Actually he's a terrible bore and a pedant, but obviously he's good at analysing things, organizing and persuading people – don't ask me for details, I never cared for it. But he's got a big house, so I lived there for a while."

"Please, I don't understand. Your brother works for the English embassy? Isn't he American?" Liesl had interrupted him.

"I'm American – my mother insisted on that. But Christopher is as British as British can be – including the stiff upper lip and the charisma of an ice cube. He's only my half-brother, 14 years older than me out of my father's first marriage to an English lady. I just lived with him for a while until I got the job in Chicago. I actually wanted a divorce then, but there were always so many other things keeping me busy – I simply never managed to get myself an appointment with a lawyer. And then, a few days after I enrolled in the Navy, I got a letter from Wendy. She had broken her leg and couldn't dance anymore. Christopher helped her rent a few rooms to start a dance school in New York, but at the moment Wendy doesn't earn enough money to provide for herself. So we decided that we'd stay married until her school is doing better – you know, an officer's wife gets support from the Navy." He had inhaled deeply. "I think in a year or two we'll have reached that point. Until then I'm married, but I don't feel like I am. I only saw my wife once during the last three years and even then only in the company of my brother."

Liesl had contemplated this story for an entire night. Her upbringing forbade an affair with a married man, and she remembered only too well how disgusted she had been by the woman at the riding school who had been after her father. Besides she had been brought up as a Catholic and her church forbade divorces.

However, on this point even her father had never agreed with the church. He had had a friend who was divorced and he had often said that that friend's marriage certainly hadn't been blessed by God. "I trust our Lord too much to believe that he would put two people so ill-suited to each other together," he had once declared and had been promptly scolded by Maria who had thought we was being too sarcastic yet again.

However, Liesl was sure that even Maria wouldn't be so hard-hearted that she would want Finlay to remain married to a wife he didn't love anymore. Maria liked him and certainly wanted him to be happy with someone who loved and supported him. And Liesl did love him and was sure that they could be happy together. And actually he wasn't really married anymore, was he? He had lived apart from his wife for years, and he was in love with _her_! That was why she had kissed him the next evening, telling him that she trusted him to get things right as soon as he was able to and that she would wait for him until then. That he didn't want to divorce his wife just now – that was only decent of him, wasn't it?

"Miss von Trapp?" A doctor had come out of the surgery. He looked tired but was smiling. "Congratulations! You have a healthy little brother!"

"And my mother? How is she?"

"She'll be fine. We had to do a Caesarean, but she'll recover. In about two weeks she'll be as good as new. Would you like to see her and your little brother for a moment? She's awake now."

"Oh, of course I want to see her!" Liesl felt like hugging the doctor. "Finlay, would you perhaps call Patricia Forrester and tell her the good news? She's certainly waiting to hear from us."

After they had arrived at the hospital, Liesl had called Patricia Forrester, who had immediately said she would drive over to the house. "I'll take care of the children. I'll get the little ones, Gretl and Marta over to my place. Brigitta, Kurt and Louisa I'll bring to the Sollers – from there they can bicycle over to look after the horses in the morning. Don't worry, Liesl – everything will be fine!"

Now Liesl was following the doctor down a dim hallway. Opening a door he let her into a room with one bed. Maria lay there, very pale and with an IV in her left arm. Yet in her right she held an infant and was smiling tenderly at him.

"Mother!" Liesl whispered and stepped closer to the bed. "I'm so glad you and the baby are going to be fine."

The nurse who stood next to the bed smiled: "Your mother can be glad she got your baby brother out of her. He's really big!"

"My doctor called him a chunk," Maria said, sounding rather weak.

Liesl bent down and looked at the little head with its tuft of dark hair. "Hello, little brother!"

Tears glimmered in Maria's eyes. "I wouldn't have thought it possible that a newborn could look so much like a grown man!" she said and shifted the baby so that Liesl could look at his face.

The little boy opened his eyes – and Liesl felt like crying too. Her baby brother was the spitting image of their father! There were the deep blue eyes, the energetic chin, the generous mouth and even the dimples in his cheeks. And now he was raising his left hand and Liesl saw the elegant, long fingers and the way he moved them. He really was his father's son!

"Mother, I know you actually wanted to name him 'Phillip'. But – well, over the last few days Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta and I have been thinking. Wouldn't you like to name him 'Georg'?" Liesl asked.

For a moment Maria seemed to consider it, but then she shook her head. "No, Liesl, I don't think so. Perhaps, if you children want to, we could call him 'Phillip Georg', but not Georg as his first name. We can't have two Georgs in the family. Besides, your father always wanted a 'Phillip'. It's Greek, and means 'friend of horses'. I think it's a very suitable name for a von Trapp."

Once again Liesl swallowed. She had already noticed on other occasions that Maria sometimes sounded as if she believed that her husband would come back. Liesl worried about that. But now certainly wasn't the right moment to talk about it. Maria looked drained and the baby was fussy. The nurse had noticed it too and was picking up the infant. "I think it's bedtime for you and your mother. I'll bring you to the nursery." She smiled at Maria. "Sleep well, Mrs. von Trapp – you need your rest! I'll look after your son and tomorrow at breakfast you'll see him again."

"Thank you." Maria could hardly keep her eyes open anymore. "Liesl – what about the children at home?"

"You don't need to worry about them, Mother. Mrs Forrester is looking after the younger ones and Mrs Soller has taken Louisa, Kurt, and Brigitta with her. We'll manage until you'll come back to us." Liesl kissed Maria's cheek. "I love you, Mother," she whispered. "Goodnight and sleep well."

Leaving the room she looked at the nurse who was carrying the little one. "Could I perhaps hold him?" she begged. "Just for a moment?"

"Of course. He's your brother after all!" Tenderly the older woman handed the bundle over.

Once again Liesl looked down at the little face which reminded her so much of her father. "Welcome to our family, Phillip von Trapp!" she whispered. "May your life be as happy and as blessed as we feel about having you with us."

Suddenly she felt a warm hand on her shoulder and looking up she saw Finlay. "What a cute little fellow!" he said. "He suits you nicely – and you know what he makes me think of, don't you?"

* * *

On the way back to her house Liesl was very quiet. On the one hand she was happy about Maria and Phillip being healthy; on the other hand she couldn't stop thinking of her father. She remembered how once, on a sunny day in May fifteen years earlier, he had come to breakfast with a bundle in his arms, his eyes beaming and his voice full of joy. "May I introduce you to Kurt Salvator von Trapp?"

He had always been so happy about his children! And he had always doted on them! As a young girl Liesl had sometimes thought it almost embarrassing how her father rolled on the grass in the backyard, playing with one of her younger siblings, or how he had looked when he fed the baby and it once again decided that mashed carrots would go better on its father's face than in its stomach. Then, Liesl really hadn't known if it was suitable for a man to be better at changing diapers than most nannies. She had been sure that none of her friends' fathers would even have touched a soaked diaper and that her friends would have laughed at her if they had known that the famous Captain von Trapp loved to give his babies their bath and generally came out of it more wet than the child he had bathed.

However, over the last few years she had come to adore what a wonderful father hers had been. It had always touched her when she had seen how the little ones wanted to be close to him and how patient and loving he was with them.

To think that Phillip would grow up without even being held once by his father, to think that her father would never see his youngest son who looked so much like him – it made Liesl infinitely sad. She hated this war that had taken her father away from his family; she hated it with flaming passion! And to think that Finlay was going back to this war in only a few hours and that he might not come back either, that she would perhaps lose him now when she had just found him! To think that all their dreams for the future could be destroyed – it was unbearable.

Now his hand was on her arm. "You're so quiet, Liesl – what are youe thinking about?"

"About the war and that you'll be gone tomorrow at this time," Liesl answered quietly.

"Darling Liesl – you mustn't worry so much. I'll come back to you – I promise!"

Now Liesl couldn't stop the tears. "My father made the same promise to Maria."

"Oh." For a moment Finlay bit his bottom lip. "I'm so terribly sorry, Liesl. I didn't want to remind you."

"My father got killed in this war and you …" Liesl couldn't make herself finish the sentence.

They had arrived at the house and Finlay was switching the engine off. Turning to Liesl, he opened his arms. "Come to me, darling Liesl." Pulling her close he whispered into her hair: "You're right – no one can promise anything in this war, except one thing: whatever happens to me, I won't stop loving you. And I do hope I'll come back to you."

He kissed her deeply and Liesl responded with all the love and passion she felt for him. She now knew that she couldn't let him go like that, and, breaking the kiss, she quietly said, "I don't want to be alone tonight."

"Of course. Shall I drive you over to Mrs. Forrester's or would you rather stay with Mrs. Sollers?"

"Neither." Liesl felt how she was blushing, but bravely proceeded: "I want you to stay with me, Finlay. I love you."

"Liesl, my darling!" He was cupping her face in his hands and looked at her. "I love you too. But I don't want you to do something you might regret. I can wait, Liesl."

"I can't, Finlay!" Liesl had never been so sure about anything. Climbing out of the car, she went up to the porch. "Come here, Finlay!"

He had gotten out of the car too and was shaking his head. "Your father would probably have me killed!"

"I won't tell him," Liesl said firmly. "I'm an adult – so this part of my life isn't my parents' business anymore." She opened the door and reached out for him. "I love you, Finlay."

To be continued

(1) The "USS" in front of a ship's name stands for "United States' Ship". The "HMS" means "His majesty's ship" (or, nowadays with the Brits having a queen, "Her majesty's ship) and is used by the English Navy.


	13. Chapter 13

Amor vincit omnia

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: My favourite miracle worker, formerly known as my beta Trapper, has done it again. In only three or four days she's beta-ed two chapters. Thanks to her!

_**Chapter 13: My Kingdom for a Boat **_

November 1942

"And you don't think you're overdoing it?" Stephan looked skeptically at Georg who leaned against a tree, breathing hard.

He only shook his head, gripped his crutches tighter and hobbled another few steps before he sank down onto a rock.

"Well," Stephan had followed him, "if you weren't so pig-headed, you probably wouldn't be here anymore," he stated. "Honestly, Georg: You look like death warmed twice over and I bet you've got a fever again."

Georg raised his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "Stephan, you're clucking over me like a mother hen."

"I just don't want you to go unconscious on me again," Stephan defended himself. "You know you're pretty boring in that state."

"Ah – and awake you find me entertaining?" Georg couldn't help grinning.

"At least I can talk to you then!"

"Stephan, I'm afraid we'll have to work on your manners before we let you loose on human society!" Georg laughed and tried to get up again. His first attempt failed, but Stephan was already at his side, gripping his elbow and bracing him.

"See what I mean?" he grumbled.

"Yes, I do." Georg sighed. "Let's go back, shall we?"

"That's the best idea you've had today!" Stephan took one of the crutches. "Brace yourself on my shoulder, will you? And when we're back in the hut, I think we should look at your knee again. I really don't like how it's still so swollen. We need to take care of it – cool it down at least."

"Cluck-cluck-cluck!" Georg chuckled, putting his arm across the boy's shoulders. Over the last few days he had learned that Stephan was much stronger than he had appeared to be at first sight. Besides he had learned that Stephan, despite his quick wit and self-confidence, was vulnerable, sensitive and starved for human company and love. How could it have been otherwise? He was just a 13-year-old boy who had lost his family and had lived for months on a lonely island with no one to talk to except a few goats and two cats who were, as Georg had also learned, not very talkative.

Slowly and silently they made their way back to the hut. Having arrived there, Stephan helped Georg sit down and knelt in front of him, shoving Georg's trouser leg up. Looking down at the dark head, Georg cleared his throat. "Stephan, there's something we must talk about. You never asked me what I was doing when the Nazis caught me."

Stephan, who was carefully unwrapping the bandage – a few pieces from an old shirt – from around Georg's knee, looked up at him for a moment. "I thought you'd tell me when you were ready," he said. "I mean, for me it's enough to know that you're not a Nazi and that you don't hate Jews."

"And you're not curious?" Georg asked, amused.

"Of course I am. Only you don't look like someone who likes to be pestered to talk when he doesn't want to. I bet you haven't even told the Nazis who beat you what you were doing."

"Sooner or later I would have." Georg twitched because Stephan had just picked at a section of the bandage that was sticking to his wound. "Ouch!"

"Sorry." Stephan sighed and cautiously touched Georg's knee. "I don't like that," he stated. "It's really swollen and terribly hot."

"I'll survive," Georg tried to joke.

"Let's hope so!" Stephan got up and reached for the water can. "I'll try to cool it down." He wetted a piece of fabric and wrapped it around Georg's knee. Sitting back, he threw a log onto the fire and looked up at Georg. "And now I _would_ really like to hear what an Austrian was doing here."

"Well then, let's start at the very beginning. I was once, a long time ago, an officer in the Austro-Hungarian Navy. After the last War, I became a pensioner, living with my family on an estate near Salzburg. But as you once so rightly stated: there is no Austria anymore. The Nazis invaded my homeland too and made it a part of Germany. And they wanted me to accept a commission in their Navy. I refused to fight for them …"

"Now I know why I thought your face looked so familiar!" Stephan interrupted, looking at Georg as if he had just grown a second head. "You're Captain von Trapp. You commanded U 34 and sank the Leon Gambetta! So the Emperor gave you the Maria-Theresien Cross and made you Ritter von Trapp!"

"Yes, but how do you know?" Georg was puzzled.

"A friend of mine in Pest had an old album of his father's: 'Our battleships and their heroic commanders.' There was a picture of you and the U 34. And under the picture was a caption that told all about you and your boat. Of course, in the picture you were much younger and you had a moustache, so I didn't recognize you immediately."

Georg stroked his long, grey beard. "I think even my wife wouldn't recognize me at the moment."

"Probably not!" Stephan laughed. "But tell me: what did you do after the Nazis tried to recruit you?"

"I got my wife, our children and myself out of Austria as quickly as possible," Georg replied drily.

It was as if a shadow had passed over Stephan's face. "Children?" he asked.

"At the time we had seven children," Georg explained. "Now, well, I think it's probably ten already. My wife was pregnant when I left."

"Do you have sons?" Stephan wanted to know.

"Yes – three that I know of. Perhaps it's four now." Georg felt terribly sad thinking of the child Maria had now probably given birth to.

"How old are they?"

"Friedrich is nineteen and an ensign in the navy, Kurt is fifteen and wants to become an engineer, and Johannes is just three. He was born in the United States."

"You went to America?" Stephan definitely looked sad now. "We wanted to go there too. You know, my father has an older brother who went to America one or two years after I was born. Sometimes he sent us packages – and then, when we realized we needed to leave Hungary, father always said he'd like to go America."

"It's a great country. I'm sure you'll like it," Georg replied, leaning forward and ruffling Stephan's hair.

"Do you really think I can go there one day?" Stephan asked.

"Sooner than you think, Stephan," Georg laughed. "I intend to take you with me."

"How?" Stephan's face was all surprise and disbelief.

"If you would let me finish my story …" Georg tried to reach for the water can and a mug, but Stephan stopped him.

"Don't move – the bandage on your knee isn't set." He poured some water into the mug and handed it Georg.

He drank and smiled at the boy. "Thank you, Stephan. And back to my story: I've joined the American Navy. Actually I'm captain of the USS Liberty, an American submarine. In the last few weeks I was on a special mission, working undercover. And that's why I need to get back to the Naval Base at Cyprus as quickly as possible. I have important information."

Stephan looked at him as if Georg had just been raised in his estimation tenfold. Swallowing, he said: "I probably should call you 'Captain' …"

"Nonsense!" Georg shook his head. "We're friends, aren't we? Besides I need your help to get back. We'll need to go over to the mainland. Do you think your friend Slatko would help us with that?"

"Sure he would. But what will we do on the mainland? The Nazis are there – and I'm sure they wouldn't welcome either of us with open arms!" Stephan shuddered.

"I don't intend to meet any Nazis over there. Instead I'm going to turn thief." Georg grinned. "Around Trogir – that's the village whose lights you can see on clear nights – are a lot of fishing boats and yachts. I'm going to steal one …"

"That sounds dangerous!" Stephan said. "I mean, why don't you just take the monk's boat? It's rather old and the sails are probably destroyed, but we could ask Slatko to get us new sails."

"The monk's boat?" Georg asked. "Are you trying to tell me that the monk had a sailboat? And it's functioning?"

Stephan shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know much about sail boats, but the monk's is still swimming – at least it was yesterday when I saw it. A few months ago I slept there for a few nights – I was afraid that someone was on the island, so I hid there. It smelled funny in the cabin, but it was dry in there."

Georg was thrilled by this news. "Where's the boat?" he asked.

"In the little cove on the west side," Stephan informed him. "Slatko tied it up there just five or six weeks ago."

"How big is it?"

Stephan exhaled thoughtfully. "Around ten meters or so. The monk used it for fishing. It's got a little cabin – just two bunks, a few closets, a tiny stove, a table and a bench to sit on," Stephan said.

"Can we go to see it tomorrow?" Georg felt so excited that he would have liked to go immediately, but it was getting dark and he wanted to be able to inspect the boat thoroughly.

"Well," Stephan sounded reluctant, "It's half an hour's walk – for me. You'll probably need longer and it will tire you out. Don't you think we should wait a few days until you're stronger?"

"Don't worry – I'll make it. And I really want to see your boat as soon as possible! My, Stephan – do you know what it would mean if we could use it? We could leave in a few days and with a good wind and a bit of luck we could be in Malta in about a week! And Malta is – hopefully – still English! We'll certainly meet American or English ships there."

"Hm." Stephan nodded and got up. "I'm going to make dinner."

"Stephan?" Georg stood and laid his arm across the boy's shoulder. "What's the matter? Don't you want to leave the island? You said you'd like to go back to school."

"Hmm." Stephan took the fish he had caught that morning out of the bucket he had used to keep it fresh. "Do you think I'd be able to get a United States visa? I've heard it's pretty hard."

"Not in your case, Stephan. You've saved my life – and I'm an American officer. I'm sure my new homeland will show you some gratitude for helping me."

"And where will I stay in America? I don't have any money!" Stephan was almost crying. "I don't want to live in an orphanage."

"You won't!" Georg said firmly. Sitting down again, he adjusted the bandage on his knee. "I promise you won't live in an orphanage. You've got relatives in America. We'll find them – and if they, for any reason, don't want to look after you, I'll take you home with me. I've always wanted a dozen children."

Stephan didn't look up, but was preparing the fish. "And your wife? Do you think she would approve of me living with your family?"

"I don't doubt it," Georg was smiling. He suddenly felt light-hearted and full of hope. "Maria is my second wife. My first died and left me behind with seven children. Maria married me and became their mother. She loves them very much."

"Of course she loves them. They're your children, a part of you. Your wife loves you, so she loves your children too," Stephan said. "But I'm a stranger."

"Not to me! Besides, Maria loved my children from the moment she met them." Georg chuckled. "And there's one thing I'm sure of: She certainly didn't like _me_ much then. Therefore I'm absolutely certain that she will love _you_."

"Hmm." Stephan still didn't sound happy.

"What is it, Stephan?"

"Would I need to become a Christian to live with you? You know, my uncle in America has become one – a rather devout one even. He always tried to convince my father to convert too. If I lived with him he would certainly demand that I become a member of his church."

Georg inhaled deeply. "Stephan, Maria and I are Roman Catholic and Maria is close to our church – closer than me. Nevertheless none of us would ever push someone to give up his beliefs. As long as you would accept and respect that we're Christians, I don't think anyone in our family would have a problem accepting that you're Jewish and that you want to remain faithful to your beliefs. I respect that and so does my wife and the rest of our family."

"And your children? Do you think they would accept a stranger in the house?"

"Stephan!" Georg was laughing now. "Use your head: I have ten children! Don't you think they're used to sharing? I don't think that one sibling more or less makes a difference to them. Besides they'd probably like to get one they don't need to babysit. Brigitta – that's my thirteen year old daughter – certainly would love to have you for a brother. She's a bookworm too."

"Hmm," Stephan repeated. He looked at the fish he had prepared. "How do you want your fish today? Grilled or boiled or as soup?"

Georg sighed. "I don't care. Make what you like best. As far as I'm concerned: when we get home I won't touch fish for at least a year!"

"I thought you liked my cooking!" Stephan laughed.

"Be honest: Haven't you had enough of fish?"

"I wouldn't mind some lamb poerkoelt (1) – and cake! Chocolate cake! My mother used to make chocolate cake for my birthday …" Stephan sounded dreamy. "Is there chocolate cake in America?"

"Of course there is – and I promise: As soon as we get there, I'll get you some," Georg smiled.

"Georg – could you teach me English?" Stephan asked. "I mean I'll need it in America, don't you think?"

"Certainly – and we'll start with the lessons immediately! By the time we arrive in America, you'll be able to talk my ear off in English!"

* * *

"Admiral, it's so kind of you to come for Phillip's christening! We feel honoured that you've agreed to be his godfather. It means a lot to the children and me." Maria smiled at the man who had become such a wonderful friend to the entire family.

He patted her hand. "My name is Charles, Maria – and it's me who feels honoured to be Phillip's godfather. He's such a wonderful little lad and he looks …" He didn't finish, but looked away.

"Just like his father!" Maria said. "That was what you thought, Charles, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But I didn't want to …" Once again he broke off, looking sheepishly at Maria. "Pittypat would say I'm not at the height of tact today – as sensitive and empathic as a battleship on red alert."

"Charles, I don't mind talking about Georg." Maria looked around the living room, registering that Liesl and Patricia were entertaining Father O'Donnell, who had come from New York to christen the youngest von Trapp, while the rest of the family was grouped around Max. Stepping a bit closer to the Admiral, Maria said quietly: "Ever since Patricia told me you'd be coming to the christening, I've wondered if I could perhaps a word with you in private."

"Of course, Maria." Now he looked around. "Where?"

"My husband's study?" Maria suggested, stood up and went out, followed by Charles Forrester.

In the study she offered him a chair and a drink.

The Admiral smiled. "Is there something left from the Captain's famous store of brandy?"

"Of course – I saved it for you." Maria poured him a glass and sat down beside him.

He sipped and asked kindly, "So, Maria – what is it? How may I help you?"

Maria inhaled deeply and looked at her right hand with the two wedding bands. "Admiral, I know I'll probably sound delusional – like someone who can't accept facts. Yet I assure you: I can – and for a few days I did accept what I believed to be the cruel truth. But now …" She smiled nervously, twisting the two wedding bands at her finger. "I'm not making much sense, am I?"

"I think you will in the end," Charles Forrester said simply.

"Now," Maria once again breathed deeply. "I don't believe anymore that Georg is dead," she said quickly, watching his expression carefully.

He sipped once more at his brandy, and then he took her hand and patted it in a fatherly gesture. "I know, Maria, it's hard to believe when there isn't even a …" Stopping himself mid-sentence, he furrowed his brow and fell silent for a moment. "You're a very sensible young woman, Maria," he started again after a while. "And you said you believed it at first. What made you change your mind?"

Maria sighed. She was glad that he was at least hearing her out. "It's very difficult to explain, Charles – and I don't have any facts to support it, except perhaps one: Georg has a knack for escaping. Just ask Max Detweiler. He served with Georg during the War. Besides: Georg knows the Adriatic coast like the back of his hand."

"I know, Maria. But he was caught by the Nazis – that doesn't make his chances of escape very good," the Admiral said softly. "On the other hand …"

"Yes, Admiral?" Maria asked eagerly.

He sipped at his brandy again. "I don't want to give you false hope, Maria, but there's something about this entire story that has started to bother me too. We didn't get any reports about Georg's capture. You know, we heard about SS officers leading him away from the shipyard, but since then it is as if the earth opened up and swallowed him. And that's odd, considering what a fuss they made about your escape from Austria. It was all over the papers in Austria back then! They announced that your husband was sentenced to death _in absentia_ for being a deserter and a traitor to Führer and fatherland."

"And now?" Maria held her breath, feeling almost dizzy with relief. The Admiral was taking her seriously! He had doubts himself!

"One would suppose they would brag about catching him now – but there wasn't a single word, neither in the newspapers nor in the Nazi circles where we have informants. Yesterday in Washington I spoke to the British embassy's minister. The man is always very well informed. It's said he knows about Hitler's menu before it is served. Yet he didn't know anything about your husband's capture either and promised me he would talk to a few people in England. This morning he called me back: English intelligence didn't have any information on Georg. To quote the minister: "Something about this is fishy. It smells bad – if only I knew where the stink is coming from!"

Maria tried to stop her hands from trembling. She had feared the Admiral would think her insane, but now he was telling her no less than that he wasn't entirely convinced about Georg's death either! He wouldn't have asked around if he was completely convinced that Georg was dead.

"Admiral, I'm sure Georg is alive," Maria said firmly now. "I feel it!"

Once again Charles Forrester studied her face. "You said at first you believed his death. What changed?"

"You'll probably think me crazy," Maria once again felt rather awkward, "but I've always had a kind of connection with Georg. A few days before I heard about his death, the connection suddenly broke. I didn't feel him in my mind anymore and it made me incredibly sad. So I believed the information without doubting it for a moment. For me it felt as if he _were_ dead. Only now the connection is back – don't ask me exactly what happened, but one day I suddenly felt it again. Since then it has become even stronger. And there's something else." Now she blushed and stammered. "When I tell you about it, you'll think I'm completely insane: Georg's stallion seems to feel it too."

"Georg's stallion?" The Admiral looked out the window. "You mean the white horse out there?"

"Yes – that's Conversano Theokratia, Georg's stallion. He's a Lipizzan. They're a very old breed and highly sensitive. In Conversano Theokratia's case that means he reacts very subtly and differently to people around him. For example: he's rather cheeky and playful with Louisa while he's always very mild and gentle with me. Besides – and I'm coming to my point now – Conversano Theokratia greets the members of our family in different ways. For Georg it's a deep, soft rumble – and I've asked the man who owned the stallion before Georg and he confirmed that he's never heard Conversano Theokratia greet anyone other than Georg that way. But now he's started doing it with me too! It started on the night I felt my connection to Georg again. And ever since, Conversano Theokratia treats me as he once treated Georg. He's even started to nibble at my finger – something he only ever did with Georg. Of course, I thought at first he simply missed Georg and was therefore trying to put someone else in Georg's place. But why me? He's much closer to Louisa and Kurt – and his behaviour toward them hasn't changed. So I've started to believe that Conversano Theokratia feels a part of Georg in _me_. I know this may sound rather idiotic to you."

"Hmm – I'm a sailor. I don't know much about horses," the Admiral said. "But I know that animals sometimes sense things we humans don't feel." He emptied his glass and looked seriously at Maria. "Please, understand me: I'd like to send a ship out to search for Georg because I too hope that he's alive. But my superior would have my head if I risked one of my ships to hunt what he would call a phantom. However, I have the two submarines – the Liberty and the Dallas – out there. I'll order them to keep their eyes open. That's all I can do at the moment, Maria. Other than that, we can only wait."

* * *

"The old man has lost his marbles," From his perch on the conning tower, Captain James Bowman of the USS Dallas tossed his cigar into the sea and looked at his second in command who stood next to him, his binoculars pressed to his eyes. "I don't like this area. I don't like it at all. You can smell those damn Germans here!"

"At least at the moment none of them seems to be close to us." Lieutenant Finlay Carson-Fenswick sounded almost amused.

"Of course not!" the captain snorted. "They certainly don't risk their ugly hides sailing around these damn islands in such god-awful weather! It's only us who're so idiotic, and we certainly don't do it because we want to or because we believe there's any sense in it. No, it's because our admiral has gone off the deep end! Hell, I know von Trapp was his favourite boy and I know he was damn good. But even von Trapp wasn't so good he could have escaped the SS and survived here on his own for five damn weeks!"

"The old man wonders why there aren't any reports about von Trapp's death," Finlay reminded his captain, looking through his field glasses again. He didn't like the area either – only a few feet of water under their keel and the islands so close you could have counted the trees on them if the night hadn't been so dark. They certainly weren't surroundings any U-boat man would have felt comfortable in.

"Of course there weren't any records. Von Trapp just wasn't as interesting to the Nazis anymore!" Bowman grumbled. "Carson, when we get home remind me to tell my wife that whatever becomes of this damn country after the war, I certainly don't intend to come back here on holiday. The Adriatic and its oh-so-healthy air and beautiful landscape can go to hell, as far as I'm concerned. I can't stand the sight of pine trees any longer and I even don't like their slibovic. It gives you a terrible headache the day aft –"

The captain's cursing was interrupted by a sailor at Finlay's back announcing: "Fishing boat at eight o'clock. There – between the two islands!"

The captain and Finlay turned around and raised their field glasses. In the darkness Finlay could only make out a sail and a dark shadow beneath. "Local fisherman," he said.

"Hmm – looks like it. I don't think he noticed us, so let him go," the captain answered.

At just that moment, the sail changed its direction.

"What the hell is he doing?" the Captain grumbled.

"He's coming toward us!" Finlay shook his head. "It must be a coincidence. He can't have seen us!"

"Fifteen to the west," the Captain commanded. "A quarter ahead!" Grinning at Finlay, he added, "Let's disappear into the darkness."

Finlay felt the boat react beneath him and slowly turned around. He knew what his captain was doing: turning the boat so that only the narrow silhouette of the Dallas would be visible to the fishing boat – only the conning tower and a narrow slope of the boat's stern would show above water. And since the tower was grey as the water and the night sky, the chances that the fisherman would see it in the dark were slim. And even if he were able to – only a select few individuals would have been able to tell the difference between the towers of an American and a German submarine in the middle of a night.

"He's signalling!" the sailor at Finlay's back almost yelled.

"What?" Captain Bowman turned in surprise and so did Finlay.

Indeed, there was a small light on the fishing boat – it had just blinked again. Long – long – long – short – short – long. Finlay shook his head. He couldn't believe what he had just seen.

"Ca-ca-captain!" The young sailor was stammering. "He's calling us!"

"What?" Bowman repeated.

"He called our signal!"

There it came again: Short – short – long – long – long – short – short – long. It was indeed the signal for the USS Dallas.

The Captain reached for his microphone. "180 grade turn! Man the guns! Carson, call him: Who the hell are you?"

Finlay bent down, pulled the signal lamp out of its compartment and set it up. "I think we've found our Admiral's phantom," he said.

"Von Trapp?" the Captain asked, making room for the sailors who came up to man the weapons.

Finlay only nodded and started to signal: "Who the hell are you?" – just as his captain had ordered.

The fishing boat promptly answered. Four times short – an "h"; one short – "e"; one short, one long, two short – "l"; the same again; three times long …

"Hello," Finlay translated slowly as the light flashed, "to you too, Jambo."

Jambo – that was Captain Bowman's nickname! Without hesitation, Finlay tipped the key on the lamp: Short – short – short – long – short, the international short key for "understood."

James Bowman had taken his cover off and was scratching his bald head. "Well I'll be damned – that's really von Trapp! Send him this," now he was grinning from ear to ear, "'Need a lift, Georg?'"

While Finlay sent out the signals, the Captain spoke into the microphone again: "Half speed and prepare to stop on my command. Petty Officer McPherson, up with a hook. And get two men out with the dingy – we're taking on a passenger!"

Now the fishing boat was shortening its sails. It was already so close to the submarine that Finlay could make out a man and a boy on the deck.

The Captain had taken out a megaphone. "Stop, Georg! We're sending our dingy over!"

Finlay looked around nervously. As happy as he was that they had found Captain von Trapp – he knew what it meant to Liesl – he didn't feel comfortable with the Dallas bobbing up and down between two islands. If one of them was inhabited, the people there could have seen the lights and heard his captain. And if there was a German ship hiding in the shadows off one the islands, they were in deep trouble.

Why did the two sailors need so long to row the dingy to the fishing boat? Of course, the sea was rough and the wind was against them. But didn't they know how vulnerable the Dallas was, stopped like a sitting duck and with so many people out in the open? To get the dingy and the men in again would require at least ten minutes – time enough for a German ship coming around the island to fire a torpedo!

The dingy was alongside the fishing boat now. Finlay watched – not noticing that he was holding his breath – how first the boy and then the man, rather awkwardly, climbed in. Immediately the dingy turned around and came back towards its mother ship.

"Captain von Trapp looks injured, sir. Permission to go down to help him?"

"'Course." The captain lit a new cigar and bellowed into his microphone: "Float the last cell with ten percent!"

Finlay, climbing down the ladder from the tower and opening the door that led out onto the hull, heard water flowing into the diving cell and felt how the boat's stern sank a bit. The sailor rowing the dingy was then able to beach his boat on the hull, while the Petty officer immediately secured it with his hook.

Finlay ran over the slippery hull to the dingy. One of the sailors was helping Georg out onto the hull while the boy supported him.

In the dim light from the tower Finlay could only see that Captain von Trapp had a full-grown beard and limped heavily. However, his voice sounded amused and cheerful as he asked, "Permission to come on board?"

"Permission granted – and welcome to the USS Dallas, Captain von Trapp! It's good to see you again. May I help you, sir?"

"I'm helping the captain!" the boy said as if Finlay had tried to take from him something that he saw as his possession.

"Okay, then follow me! And be careful – the hull is slippery!" Finlay turned around. "Petty Officer, get the dingy and the men in as quickly as possible."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Finlay opened the door to the tower and let the Captain and the boy in. "Careful – there's a ladder. I'll go first." He let himself down, then called up: "Hey kid, come down!" He waited until the boy had landed next to him and nudged him gently aside. "Wait here – I'll help your captain." He reached up with his hands: "Captain von Trapp, I'm here …" He helped Georg down and, doing so, he noticed with a shock how bony and thin the man had become.

Reaching for the microphone, Finlay called up to his captain: "We're done – Captain von Trapp and his guest are in."

"Okay, then let's disappear as quickly as possible," Captain Bowman answered from up the tower. "Helm, prepare to dive as soon as I'm down."

"Prepare to dive!" the sailor at the helm confirmed the command.

Finlay turned to Georg who was leaning on the periscope. In the red light of the bridge his face – as much of it as Finlay could see through the beard – was very pale, his eyes seemed sunken in their sockets with dark shadows under them, and he looked as if he would break down any second now. The boy who was standing beside him seemed to fear that too. He watched Georg anxiously, only now and then turning his eyes away for a quick, curious look at his surroundings.

The men who had been at the weapons came down, immediately stepping aside. One of them announced: "Dingy and the men are in, sir."

"Thanks." Finlay turned to Georg. "Just a moment please, Captain von Trapp. I just need to wait for Captain Bowman to take over and then I'll look after you."

"Of course." A tired grin. "Just think, Lieutenant Carson: I know the drill."

"Only you won't have a chance to command it yourself, Georg!" Captain Bowman had come down and was smiling at his colleague. "Tower is secured, we're diving!" he commanded, looking at his first engineer who was now at the helm. "Just take over for a moment, Bud, will you? Let's go out to the open sea as quickly as possible – if one can talk about 'open sea' in this miserable bathtub called the Adriatic. I'll be back in a few minutes." He turned to Georg. "I don't know what you've been doing with yourself, Georg, but it certainly wasn't a stay at a health spa. You look like hell!"

"Let's put it bluntly: The Nazis' hospitality isn't anything to write home about, Jambo. I'm rather glad I'm here. But may I first introduce you to my young friend, Stephan Lonyay? He saved my life. Stephan," he turned to the boy, smiled and said something in a language Finlay didn't understand.

The boy smiled back and then bowed towards Captain Bowman. "I'm pleased to meet you, Captain Bowman," he said in heavily accented English.

"So am I, young man! Welcome on board!" Captain Bowman smiled back. "I think we should look after Georg now. Carson, get the medic out of bed!" he commanded and then pointed with his chin towards the hatch. "Can you make it over there, Georg?"

"I hope so." Georg took a step towards the hatch, but just at that moment the boat lurched forward. He stumbled and would have fallen if James Bowman had not caught him. "My, my, Georg, you really do belong in bed!" he grumbled. "Let's get you there – the Admiral would be royally pissed off if I didn't look after you properly." He helped Georg through the hatch into the officers' mess where he opened a little door. "You'll sleep in my bunk – I certainly won't need it in the next few hours."

"Thanks, Jambo! And please – could you see to getting Stephan something to eat? Preferably no fish, and no pork either. And I think he wouldn't say no to a big mug of cocoa and a bed." Georg sank down on the bunk and closed his eyes, but only for a moment. "Jambo," he said then, "I have important information for the Admiral. It would be good if I could talk to him as soon as possible."

"As soon as we were out in open sea, I'll send him a radiogram." Captain Bowman grinned broadly. "I'd say he'll butcher a fatted calf when he hears he's getting his lost son back. And speaking of sons: Congratulation, Georg. My Number Two … ah, here he comes. Carson, why don't you tell Captain von Trapp the good news?"

"It would be my pleasure!" Finlay let the medic through with his bag. "Captain von Trapp, at October 24 at eleven o'clock p.m. you became father of a healthy son who was named Phillip James Georg von Trapp. Your wife is doing well too, and I think she'll be the happiest woman alive when she learns that you're coming home soon."

"I'm afraid the captain will have to go to a hospital first," the medic said, shaking his head. He had cut open Georg's trousers and was now checking his knee. "I absolutely do not like how this wound looks. Besides, it must hurt like hell."

"It's unpleasant," Georg admitted.

"Okay," the medic said. "I'll have to clean the wound – but first I'll get you a dose of morphine. It will probably send you directly into la-la land and you won't feel me messing around with your knee anymore. And then we'll try sulphonamide – I hope it will stop this inflammation."

"Okay." Captain Bowman bent down and patted Georg's shoulder. "Sweet dreams, Georg! I'm going to look after my boat. Carson, you see to the boy and then into bed with you too – I expect you to take over in four hours."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

"Lieutenant Carson?" Georg looked up at him.

"Yes, sir?"

"How did you learn about my son?" Georg asked.

Finlay blushed, remembering how the night on which Phillip James Georg von Trapp had been born had ended. "I was with your family then, sir," he answered. "I was in Annapolis for schooling when I heard about you going missing. And there was a ceremony and I attended and spoke to Liesl – I mean, your oldest daughter, sir."

"Yes, I know I have a daughter named Liesl," Georg grinned although the medic had just cut open his shirt too and stuck an IV needle into his arm.

"Well," Finlay felt rather awkward talking to Captain von Trapp about Liesl, "she invited me over, so I was at your house when your wife …" Finlay stopped himself. This certainly wasn't the right moment to tell the captain how dramatic the birth of his youngest had been. "Liesl – I mean your daughter and I drove your wife to the hospital and waited there until your son was born. He's a really cute little fellow and he looks just like you."

"I'm looking fo …." The captain stopped in mid-sentence and fell asleep.

The medic secured the needle and connected a bag with clear liquid to it, hanging it on a hook on the wall. "Out like a light," he commented dryly. "I'd feel much better if I had him in a hospital. His knee looks really bad and there's a rattle in his lungs I don't like either. Besides," he pointed to Georg's chest where a dark spot was visible under the skin, "I'd like him x-rayed. There's an old bruise and I wouldn't wonder if there were a few broken ribs in there. The man looks as if he's been severely beaten. He needs a doctor."

"I'll tell the Captain. Perhaps the Admiral can send a ship with a doctor on board to us," Finlay said. "Now I'm going to look after the boy – or do you need me here?"

"No, I'll manage on my own, sir."

"Fine – then I'm off." Finlay turned around and went to the kitchen. "I need a can of cocoa, two mugs and a plate with sandwiches, but no fish or pork. It goes to the mess – ASAP, please!"

"I'll just need a minute, sir!" the cook answered.

Finlay nodded and stepped over to a closet. Pulling a clean shirt, a pair of trousers, underwear, a bar of soap and a towel out he finally went into the mess. The boy sat on the bench there in the corner, looking rather lost.

"You understand English, don't you?" Finlay put the bundles of clothes on the bench and sat down next to the boy.

Stephan nodded. "If you don't speak too quickly I'll understand. How's my captain?"

"He's sleeping – our medic gave him something for the pain and the inflammation in his knee. I think he'll feel better in the morning." He smiled. "Your name is Stephan, isn't it? Mine is Finlay Carson. I'm the second officer here. You can call me Finlay."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Finlay!" Stephan said – he had obviously learned this line from Georg. "Finlay, I need to …" he blushed.

"Oh, of course – come with me!" Finlay let the boy to the small latrine and opened the door for him. "Don't wonder about the water when you wash your hands. We're on a submarine and that means we have to spare fresh water. You'll get sea water for washing and showering here."

"Thanks, Finlay!" The boy closed the door and Finlay went back to the table.

The cook had just brought a tray with the cocoa and sandwiches. Finlay thanked him and sat down, pouring cocoa into his mug and sipping it. A look at his watch told him it was around three o'clock in the morning. In two or three hours his captain would send the news to the base. Someone would certainly wake the Admiral and he, being a friend of the von Trapp family, would probably call them in Annapolis. It would be rather late there, so it would probably be Liesl who would answer the phone – her room was closest to it.

Finlay could imagine her, standing there at the phone in her white night shirt, her beautiful hair bound back in a ponytail. How he longed to be with her to share her joy!

"Oh, food!" Stephan was back.

Finlay smiled at him. "Do you like cocoa?"

"Cocoa?" Stephan obviously didn't know the word.

"Hot chocolate!" Finlay poured some for the boy and pushed the mug over to him. "Here – just try it."

Stephan sniffed at the cup and then he sipped and started to beam. "Oh – it's wonderful! I haven't had this in years! Do you think we could get Georg – I mean, my captain – a mug of it too? It would be good for him – he's lost so much weight. You know, I tried to fatten him up. I even caught pigeons and cooked soup for him, but he was never very hungry."

"He'll be fine. In a few days we'll probably meet a ship with a doctor and you'll see: he'll make your captain fit again in no time. But speaking of food: You look as if you could do with some as well. Here – no fish, no pork." He pushed the plate with the sandwiches towards the boy. "And when you're done eating, you can have a shower and clean clothes. I'm afraid they'll be a bit too big for you, but for a few days they'll do. Afterwards, it's bedtime."

The boy was hungrily eating a sandwich. "Georg, I mean, my captain, told me there aren't many beds on a submarine."

"I'm going to kick one of our ensigns out of his. He can share with me then. We work at different times so it's no problem."

* * *

Finlay felt as if he had only slept for a few minutes when the ensign woke him. Rolling out of his bunk with a sigh and a yawn and pulling on his trousers, he asked: "Do you know how Captain von Trapp is?"

"The medic says he's at least not worse. At the moment he's still sleeping," the Ensign replied. "You're a friend of his?"

"I wouldn't go that far. But I'm very glad he's alive." Finlay staggered to the other side of the aisle and lifted the curtain over the ensign's bed. The boy lay on his side, peacefully sleeping. Finlay smiled at him and walked to the bathroom.

As he came back to the mess a few minutes later, Captain Bowman entered from the other side, a sheet of paper in his hand and a big grin on his tired, unshaven face. "Morning, Lieutenant." He waved the paper. "I've just received a radiogram from base. The Admiral isn't only butchering a calf, he's coming towards us with half the fleet. You won't believe what a welcome party his lost son is going to get: The Shiloh – as far as I know von Trapp's son is serving on her – and the Georgia and even the good old Lincoln are heading towards us. And for good measure the Tommies are sending the Duchess of York and the King George to back us."

"King George?" Finlay hadn't heard this name before.

"The cruiser that fought through from Gibraltar just a few days ago," Captain Bowman explained. "It's said they sunk two or even three German submarines."

"Well done! When will we meet the others?" Finlay asked.

"The Duchess shouldn't be too far away – we'll probably meet her this evening. And tomorrow in the evening we should see the Shiloh. She's around Malta and gets air backup from the Lincoln. She's to take over von Trapp – you know the Shiloh's got a hospital with a full staff. Our medic will be relieved once he's gotten rid of von Trapp. He worries a great deal about the man. He just told me that he wonders how he kept himself upright in his state. Well, it seems that our Austrian aristocrat is a tougher egg than I had believed him to be." He grinned, sat down and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I must admit I was wrong about him. When I first met him I thought our baron was only good for three things: Polishing his medals, looking ornamental in his uniform and fathering dozens of children."

Finlay laughed. "Who look rather ornamental too! His oldest daughter is a beauty and his son – I mean the one who's serving on the Shiloh – could be the Navy's poster boy."

"Next to you, Carson, next to you!" The Captain laughed. "I can just imagine the poster: Von Trapp, his son and you in dress whites and over it the line 'Join the Navy now.' (2) Every girl in America would want to." He yawned. "Well, I'll use the engineer's bunk now. I need to get a bit of sleep."

To be continued

(1) Poerkoelt: Hungarian for goulash – and that's one of the three Hungarian words I know. ;-)

(1) Some trivia, not really related to "Sound of Music": Around 1949 the English Navy had such a poster. It showed only one young sailor – the this time the 17-year-old Peter O'Toole who a few years later became a very famous actor. And yes, if you try to imagine "my" Finlay Carson, then think of the young Peter O'Toole. He was the model for Finlay Carson.


	14. Chapter 14

Amor vincit omnia

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Once again thanks to Trapper, the quickest and nicest beta alive!

_**Chapter **__**14: Up and off **_

November – December 1942

Finlay guessed incorrectly: It wasn't Liesl, but Louisa who got to the phone first. Normally one of the soundest sleepers in the family, she had just come back from the Evanescu stables, where she had helped her friend Inge with a sick young mare. Louisa was just on her way to bed when she heard the phone ring. Her first thought went to Inge. As Louisa had left her stables, the mare had been better. Nevertheless Louisa had asked her friend to call her if the horse's condition changed. So she sprinted down the stairs in her stocking feet, slid into the study where the phone stood on the desk and picked up the receiver. Slightly out of breath, she said: "Hello, is that you, Inge?"

For a moment there was silence, then a business-like female voice said dispassionately: "This is the Annapolis Naval Base. We have a flash call for you from Admiral Forrester on Cyprus Naval Base. We're putting it through – please hold the line."

There was a crackle of static and then silence – and Louisa felt her knees go weak. The Admiral calling in the middle of the night – sinking down into the chair in front of the desk, Louisa started to pray that he wouldn't tell her that something had happened to Friedrich. They couldn't lose him too. God couldn't be so cruel as to take him away so soon after his father's death!

Another crackle in the line and then came the Admiral's booming voice: "Is this the von Trapp household? This is Admiral Forrester speaking."

Louisa swallowed. "Yes, sir – it's Louisa von Trapp. Admiral, how's my brother?"

"Your brother? Which one?" The Admiral sounded confused.

"Friedrich!" Louisa almost cried.

"Oh, Friedrich – I think he's fine." Now Admiral Forrester laughed. "Sorry, Louisa. I wasn't thinking of him at the moment. I have good news for your family – probably the best you can get: I've just gotten a radiogram from the USS Dallas, one of our submarines patrolling the Adriatic Coast. They're on their way back to base and they have a guest on board: your father. He's alive – slightly injured, but nothing life-threatening. Your mother was right, Louisa: your father is coming back to you. In five or six days we'll have him back here at Cyprus."

"My father is alive?" Louisa couldn't believe it. "Really, Admiral?"

"Really and truly, Louisa!" The Admiral laughed once again. "Louisa, I'm in a hurry, so let's make this short. Would you please inform your mother that Captain Soller will call her in a few hours to make the arrangements? We suppose she wants to come over here."

"But, but, sir …" Louisa was stammering. "You said Father's injured?"

"Yes, Louisa, but the radiogram says it's not too bad. So don't you worry – we'll look after him and you'll get him home sound and safe in no time." The Admiral sounded hurried. "Louisa, I'm sorry but I have to go – my ship's waiting. Only one question for you – the one your father will certainly ask me first: Everything alright at home?"

"Yes, sir! We're fine!" Louisa felt tears running down her face, but they were tears of happiness. "We're finer than fine now!"

"I'll tell your father. And you inform your mother, will you? Good night, Louisa – and sleep well!"

Before Louisa could say anything more, the Admiral had hung up.

For a few seconds Louisa sat there, the receiver still in her hand. "Sleep well" the Admiral had said – as if she could even think of sleeping just now! She wanted to dance, to sing, to celebrate, to scream, to jump up to the ceiling, to swing on the chandelier, to hug the entire world. Putting down the receiver at last, she whispered: "Father's alive. He'll come home." It sounded so wonderful; she needed to repeat it even louder: "Father's alive! He'll come home!"

She started to run – out of the study and up the stairs to the second floor. Arriving at the door of the master bedroom, she stopped and took a deep breath. Maria, Liesl – she was once again sharing with Maria – and Phillip certainly were sleeping, and she didn't want to wake the baby. As quietly as possible, she opened the door and tiptoed into the dark room towards the big bed. Her eyes had already become accustomed to the dim light the moon sent through the curtains and so she bent down, laid her hand on Liesl's shoulder and whispered: "Wake up, Liesl – I need to tell Mother and you something very important!"

"What's the matter?" Liesl was grumbling.

"Louisa?" Maria had woken up. Switching on the little lamp on her nightstand, she sat up and looked at Louisa. "What happened, darling?"

"Oh, Mother! I don't know how to tell you – it's the most wonderful thing!" Louisa exclaimed.

Liesl was rubbing her eyes. "Your favourite mare had a filly? As far as I'm concerned, I could have waited to learn that tomorrow."

"It's better than Adana getting a filly!" Louisa grinned, went around the bed and sat down on Maria's side. "Mother," she said softly, "the Admiral just called. They've found Father. He's alive, on board a ship, and on his way back to Cyprus."

Maria didn't answer. She simply sat there, her arms around her knees, looking as if she were far away.

"Father's alive?" Liesl jumped out of her bed. "Mother, did you hear that? Father's alive!"

"Yes." Maria sounded as if her thoughts were still miles away. "I know. I knew it all the time."

"You knew it all the time?" Louisa stared at Maria. "How do you mean that?"

"I felt it," Maria simply answered.

"Then why didn't you tell us?" Liesl sounded irritated.

"Oh, Liesl!" Maria reached out to her. "At first I was so confused about it! I thought I was going mad when I started to feel that way. I actually almost couldn't believe myself and so I didn't want to talk about it – I was afraid you'd think I was insane or that you would believe me and I'd perhaps give you false hope. Actually the only person I talked about it with was the Admiral – probably because I wanted him to confirm that there was no hope or something like that. But he'd started to doubt too because there was never a mention of your father's death in the Nazi papers." She turned to Louisa. "It doesn't matter anymore. Darling, what did the Admiral say exactly? Where's your father now?"

"Well," Louisa swallowed, "he said that Father is injured, but not too badly. And at the moment he's on board a ship – wait, I just remembered the name: the USS Dallas."

"That's Finlay's ship!" Liesl exclaimed. "It's a submarine. In fact, it's the sister ship of Father's Liberty. Did _they_ find him?"

"It seems so," Louisa answered. "The Admiral was in a hurry, so he didn't tell me much more than that father is on board the USS Dallas and will arrive at Cyprus in a few days. And then he asked me to tell Mother that Captain Soller will call her to make arrangements – you'd probably like to go to Cyprus."

Maria smiled at the girls, opened her arms and hugged them both. "What do you think about waking Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and Gretl? I feel like celebrating – and eating the cake I baked for tomorrow." She laughed out loud. "Your father certainly wouldn't approve of us having a cake in the middle of the night. So let's take the opportunity before he's back and we need to maintain discipline, order and decorum again!"

* * *

Stephan Lonyay looked around the small room he was sitting in. It was rather spare and not exactly what one could call "cosy," but there was something about the white painted walls, the two bunk beds, the two closets, the metal table and the two chairs that he liked. It didn't feel like a "home," but all the same it felt like hope. This chamber appeared at first sight like a cell, but the blue sky that Stephan could see through the porthole meant freedom. He was on his way to America! His dream was going to come true: he was going to live in a country where his being Jewish wasn't a threat to his life, where he could go in school again, and where he could even become a doctor.

Perhaps he would even get something like a family again? He didn't care much for his uncle – he had never seen him and what he had heard about him certainly didn't make him wish to live with him. However, over the last few weeks he'd been consistently lucky – perhaps it would last? Perhaps he really would get a chance to live with Georg and his family.

He looked at the left one of the two closets. On its door was a small plaque, reading "Ensign v. Trapp".

Said Ensign had led him to the chamber only a few minutes earlier and had told him he would go get Stephan fresh linen for the bed and clothes to change into. "I'll be back as quickly as possible. Uhm – and if you need the bathroom in the meantime, it's just down the hall and around the steps on the left side. There's a plaque on the door."

He obviously was a nice boy, this Friedrich von Trapp. Since Georg and Stephan had come on board the USS Shiloh a few hours ago, he had shown Stephan nothing but kindness.

Nevertheless Stephan had felt a bit jealous of him during that first hour. On the island and even more during the three days they had spent on the fishing boat Georg had belonged only to him. And he had needed Stephan because he had been in so much pain. Stephan hadn't minded doing most of the work with the sails, following Georg's instructions; he hadn't minded cooking and tending to Georg's wound – just the opposite. He adored Georg more than he had ever adored anyone else in his life, even more than his own father. To be at his side, not as the child the heroic captain had to look after, but as a partner who did his share to make their escape a success, had meant the world to Stephan.

The USS Dallas then – they had only been on board the submarine for three days, but Stephan had enjoyed them immensely. First he had just been glad that there was a medic with real drugs who could really help Georg – Stephan had worried a great deal about him over the previous several days. Besides, the food on the Dallas had been so great and all the men had been so nice! Of course, he had spent most of his time with Georg who had given him English lessons and had answered all the questions Stephan had had about the boat. But whenever Georg slept – and he had slept a lot because of the pain killers – Stephan had been in the mess. There had always been someone to talk to and everyone had wanted to hear Stephan's story. Whenever he told the story, he had heard what a great boy he was and how glad they were that he had helped Georg. And the men had told him about America and every single one had assured him that he would be welcomed there with open arms.

This morning then, only a half hour after his breakfast, Captain Bowman had entered his chamber while Stephan sat at Georg's bedside. "I'm afraid we'll have to say farewell soon," he had said. "The Shiloh will approach us in an hour. She'll take the two of you over." Then he had grinned. "Our Admiral doesn't spare any effort to get you home safe and sound, Georg. The Lincoln has already sent us an escort. It will arrive in a few minutes." He had put his hand on Stephan's shoulders and smiled down at him. "Georg, what do you think? How quick could your young friend get down from the tower in the case of an attack?"

"Quicker than you, Jambo!" Georg had answered cheerfully. "Besides I really think he could do with some fresh air."

"Well, then – Stephan, would you like coming up to the tower with me?" Captain Bowman had asked. "The medic will get Georg ready for transport; in the meantime you can help us to look out for the Shiloh."

The next hour had been one of the most exciting in Stephan's young life. Lieutenant Carson had given him a life jacket, had explained how the safety rope worked and how to get down from the tower in case of an alert. Then they had climbed up to the flak platform on the tower, only a few feet from the top. There Lieutenant Carson had introduced Stephan to big, black Petty Officer Henderson and Seaman Smith who were manning the weapons. They had helped him secure himself and explained their station to him.

Suddenly Stephan had heard a dark thunder rolling over the sea. He had been so startled that he jumped. The Petty Officer had grinned. "That's our escort – just look out there!" He had pointed to the sky.

Stephan needed a moment to make out the five small, dark points that quickly came closer, revealing themselves to be aircraft. "They're American, aren't they?" he asked nervously.

"Of course – they're our escort, as I've said," the seaman assured him.

"Where do they come from?" Stephan asked.

"From the USS Abraham Lincoln – that's our aircraft carrier. It's probably three or four hours away from us," the Petty Officer explained and waved up at the five aircraft which flew over the submarine in so close a formation that their wings almost touched.

Suddenly they broke their formation, the wingmen at the left and right diving away in elegant curves, followed by their left- and right-hand neighbours. They thundered over the Dallas again and the Petty Officer shook his head. "Show offs!"

Stephan had never liked airplanes before. Whenever one had flown over his island, he had hidden under the trees until it was so far away that he couldn't hear its engines anymore. But now he watched the machines with awe. "They're beautiful!"

"Yeah, our good old hellcats aren't too ugly," the Petty Officer said, pointing up with his chin. "These are Grumann F6 Hellcats – the type of aircraft mostly used on carriers."

"And how did you recognize them? I mean you knew they were American even before you could see the flag on their wings," Stephan wondered.

"It's one of the first things you learn in our job," Petty Officer Henderson smiled. "It wouldn't do for us to shoot at our own machines, would it? So you learn to recognize the different types – shape, sound and the way they operate."

"Petty Officer – over there!" The seaman had interrupted and was pointing out to sea.

Stephan could once again only make out a black spot moving at the horizon.

"Ah, look there: That's the Shiloh, the cruiser that will take your captain and you over," Henderson told Stephan.

Stephan was puzzled. "How do you know? Can you recognize a ship from here?"

"No. Even my eyes aren't that good." Petty Officer Henderson grinned. "But it's logical that this is the Shiloh. If there were an enemy ship around, the aircraft would have seen it and warned us. That's why they're here."

Stephan looked around, searching for the planes. He couldn't see them, but he discovered another dark spot with a little cloud of smoke hanging over it. "There's another ship!" he exclaimed. "Look there – on the right!"

The Petty Officer lifted his binoculars, but just at that moment they heard a voice from the top of the tower. "HMS King George at three o'clock!"

Henderson nodded. "Our English friends – I wonder when the Duchess of York will appear."

"Petty Officer, open your eyes!" Finlay called from above. "It's already there – at nine o'clock on parallel course!"

"Oops!" Henderson grinned. "We should pick up missing heroes more often. It makes for a nice fleet parade going home."

Stephan watched the American cruiser, which came closer every moment. Now he could make out its form. "It's huge!" he said in awe. "I mean, the Shiloh must be huge."

The seaman looked at it through his binoculars. "Uuuh!" He grinned at the Petty Officer. "We should have shaved. The old man is on the Shiloh."

"All honour for the lost captain!" Henderson looked at Stephan and handed him his binoculars. "Have a look at the rear. What do you see there?"

Stephan lifted them to his eyes, looked through and concentrated. "Two flags," he stated then. "There's the American one and over it a smaller, blue one. What's the second one for?"

"It means that the Shiloh serves as the flagship of the blue fleet," the seaman told him. "And the blue fleet is the one we and Captain von Trapp's boat belong to. It's commanded by Vice Admiral Charles Jamison Forrester – known among his men as 'the old man.' Whenever he's on board one of the ships, he sets his flag there – the blue one. The Shiloh showing it now means the Admiral is over there. And that's pretty unusual – normally the aircraft carrier is the flag ship. It's the biggest ship in the fleet and therefore best suited to host the Admiral and his staff."

"But isn't that dangerous?" Stephan asked. "I mean the Germans probably know too that your Admiral is on that carrier. What if they attack it? Couldn't a submarine sink it?"

"Theoretically yes," Henderson replied. "Your captain once got a big Italian cruiser down with only four small torpedos. He sent the first one straight into the rudder. The ship couldn't manoeuvre anymore and so the rest was like shooting a sitting duck."

"And if someone did that to your carrier when the Admiral was on board?" Stephan looked up at Henderson.

"It would be tough for a submarine to get so close to the Lincoln. She's never out on her own, but always escorted – mostly by the Shiloh and at least two frigates – smaller, but fast ships with a lot of heavy weaponry. They surround the carrier on all sides and listen out for submarines. If they discover one, they warn the carrier and call the other ships. And then all hell breaks lose – they hunt the submarine, helped by the aircraft from the carrier. No submarine, not even one commanded by your famous captain, stands a chance then."

The cruiser was so close Stephan could see men in khaki uniforms lowering a boat into the rather choppy sea. It was manned by at least six sailors.

"USS Dallas, get your passengers ready for transfer!" a voice sounded through a megaphone.

Just at that moment, the door behind Stephan opened. "Mr. Lonyay?" Another Petty Officer stood on the threshold. "Would you follow me please?"

Stephan said farewell to the two men who had kept him company and climbed down from the tower to the hull.

A few feet away a heavy hatch was opened and two sailors were bending over it to take up a stretcher on which Georg was lying. He didn't look too happy about this means of transportation. Stephan rushed over to him. "Are you okay?"

"I'd rather be on my feet!" Georg scowled. "They're treating me as if I were on my death bed! It's not dignified!"

Stephan was rather glad about it. The hull was slippery and the boat danced heavily on the waves. He wasn't sure if Georg would have been able to stand upright.

The Shiloh's cutter was there. The Petty Officer secured it with his hook while another sailor took a rope and fixed it to the tower. Then the Petty Officer turned around, smiling at Stephan. "Following nautical tradition the highest ranking man goes first."

Stephan nodded and watched how the men from the Shiloh took the stretcher over.

"Okay, son – now it's your turn! Just jump – they'll catch you." The Petty Officer took the rope that held Stephan and gave him a little push. Stephan jumped and landed in the arms of a big sailor who grinned down at him.

"Welcome aboard!"

A minute later the cutter was turning around, its engine roaring as it started its journey towards its mother ship.

Stephan sat down next to Georg. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

"As I said: I don't like being transported like a sack of potatoes," Georg grumbled. Just the day before the medic had helped him shave and wash his hair, but Stephan didn't think these procedures had improved Georg's appearance much. Without the beard his face looked even more pale and haggard than before.

"Your son is over there on this ship, isn't he? Aren't you looking forward to seeing him?"

"Yes, of course I am. But I'd really rather do it on my own two feet!" Georg replied.

Stephan only shook his head. After almost two months with Georg he knew already how proud and pig-headed he could be. Besides he didn't feel like talking. The thought of Georg's son gave him a knot in his stomach. This boy hadn't seen his father in months. He had believed him to be dead – he certainly would want Georg all to himself. And how would he react to Stephan under these circumstances?

"Hey, Stephan." Georg was tugging at his sleeve. "Friedrich will like you – I'm sure of it." He spoke Hungarian, though in the last few days they had spoken mostly in English.

Stephan didn't get a chance to answer. The cutter had arrived at the huge, grey cruiser. Ropes came down and were secured, and then the boat was pulled up and swung into a gallery. Two groups of men stood there waiting for it. The first, sailors in blue overalls, ran over and four of them took the stretcher while another one helped Stephan out of the cutter.

"Attention!" A voice bellowed.

Stephan looked in its direction and saw a few seamen in uniform. A boatman's whistle sounded and two men – one tall and lanky, the other older, stout and bald – with a lot of gold on their covers stepped forward.

Stephan wasn't much interested in them. He tried to scrutinize secretly the blond young man who waited patiently in the background. Although he was taller and lankier than Georg and had blond hair, Stephan hadn't needed to see the name plate on his chest, reading "v. Trapp." The resemblance between Georg and his son was impossible to miss.

The older, bald man turned. "Ensign von Trapp!" he commanded and then smiled. "I think you're more wanted here than Captain MacGaffins and me."

Stephan watched how the Ensign stepped forward and stood at attention with the fingers raised to the edge of his cover trembling and his eyes glistening with tears. "Captain – welcome on board!" His voice sounded hoarse and almost cracked.

"Friedrich!" Georg looked as if he were close to tears too.

His son removed his cover and got down on one knee. "Father – I'm so glad to see you!"

Georg reached for his hand. "Son …" he said simply and then pulled Friedrich down in an embrace and held him for a moment.

Stephan looked away. He felt bad about it, but couldn't help it: he was jealous. Although he had only known Georg for a few weeks – he had become something like a second father to him. And now he envied Friedrich for the gentleness with which Georg ruffled his hair.

"Stephan?"

Georg was calling for him. Stephan swallowed and stepped over. "Yes, sir?"

"Just a moment, Stephan, please!" Georg looked up at the officers who were still standing next to him. "Admiral, Captain, Friedrich – I want to introduce you to Stephan Lonyay. He saved my life and without him I wouldn't be here. Plus," he twinkled at Stephan before he addressed the Admiral, "Stephan is a Hungarian citizen and an orphan. I think at the moment I'm something like his temporary guardian while you, Admiral, are representing the United States of America on this ship. Hence I want to ask you for political asylum for my charge."

"Temporarily granted!" The Admiral smiled at Stephan and held out his hand to him. "I'm Admiral Forrester and I'm looking forward to hearing the entire story about the captain and you."

"But before we do so, we need to get Captain von Trapp to the hospital. Our doctors are already waiting." The ship's captain nodded towards two of his sailors. "Get Captain von Trapp down to the infirmary."

"Captain MacGaffin, you'll look after my charge?" Georg asked.

"Of course. And I think I already have an idea who should take over this job. Ensign von Trapp, until we arrive at Cyprus, you're released from normal duty. Instead, look after this young man. Who are you bunking with?"

"Ensign Sunders, sir."

"Go tell him to move out – he'll have to see the quarter master for another chamber. Mr …" he looked at Stephan, "what's your name again, please, son?"

"Lonyay, sir – Stephan Lonyay."

"Okay. Mr. Lonyay is to stay with you in your chamber, Ensign von Trapp."

"Yes, sir!" Friedrich von Trapp answered.

"Off you go to see Ensign Sunders. Then report back to my ready room," the Captain commanded. Turning to the Admiral, he asked: "Okay with you, sir?"

"Fine." The Admiral grinned. "Am I invited to your ready room too?"

"Of course, sir." The captain laid his hand on Stephan's shoulder. "You come with me! You look as if you could use something to eat and a mug of cocoa."

Actually Stephan wasn't hungry, but he had already learned that American officers obviously liked to stuff him, so he nodded and said: "You're very kind, sir."

"We're burning with curiosity about your story." The Admiral opened a hatch, which led inside. "Captain von Trapp means a lot to us and we are very happy to have him back."

In the Captain's ready room Stephan had told the Admiral, the Captain, and Georg's son how Georg had come to the island, how he had found him and nursed him through, and how they had repaired the monk's boat and escaped with it.

As he had finished his tale, the Admiral had looked at him. "Stephan Lonyay, I promise you: you won't only get asylum in America, but a medal. And if you ever want to join the Navy, I'll help you personally!"

"I actually have always wanted to become a doctor like my father," Stephan had said. "Nevertheless thank you, sir. I feel honoured."

"You're a very brave young man, son. We feel honoured to have you with us," the Admiral had replied.

"But now I think we should give you some food – and fresh clothes. Ensign, you'll look after that?" The Captain had stood up. "I must go to the bridge. Mr. Lonyay, if you want to, the Ensign can give you a tour of the ship, including the bridge, tomorrow."

"I'd very much like to see your ship, Captain."

"Well, then – Ensign, will you show our guest to your quarters and to the mess?"

"Yes, sir." Friedrich had looked at Stephan. "Will you follow me please?"

* * *

Now the door opened. Friedrich was back with a bundle of clothes and some linen. "Hello!" He put the bundle down on the bunk. "Sorry for the delay. I was at the infirmary."

"How is …" Stephan hesitated. It didn't feel right to refer to the captain as 'Georg' in front of his son. Clearing his throat he started once again: "How is the captain?"

Friedrich bit his bottom lip. "Not too good. The ship's changing course to lay quieter. The doctors want to do surgery on Father's knee."

"Surgery? Is it that bad?" Stephan felt suddenly chilled and almost guilty. He had tried for weeks to tend to Georg and he had actually thought he hadn't done too bad.

"Hmm." Friedrich nodded and then tried a comforting smile. "Father certainly wouldn't like us worry too much. He's tough."

"You would know. He's your father," Stephan answered quietly and rather morosely.

For a moment Friedrich looked a bit irritated and then he sat down on the opposite chair. "I think you must know him rather well too. You spent the last couple of months with him. Besides he's quite fond of you."

"How do you know?" Stephan asked before he had thought about it.

"As you said: I know my father pretty well."

Stephan breathed deeply. "I have an uncle in America," he stated then. "But your father said if my uncle doesn't want to look after me, I could live with your family." He looked almost challengingly at Friedrich. How would he take this news?

"Would you like to live with your uncle?" Friedrich asked kindly.

Stephan shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I've never met him, but from what I've heard …"

Friedrich smiled. "Well then – we could do with another man in the family. I don't know if Father told you, but I've got six sisters."

"But you have brothers too, haven't you?"

"Of course – three. Only the two youngest don't really count as men yet," Friedrich grinned. "Johannes is three and Phillip's only a few weeks old, while almost all of my sisters can already talk. And talk they do – all the day and all together. And it isn't only them: they've got dozens of girlfriends who always hang around at our place too. Kurt – that's my fifteen-year-old brother – and I sometimes feel like the only boys in a girls' school. It's all giggles and chatter about dresses and whenever you open a door, you have at least three girls squealing because they're trying on each other's clothes or doing some other girl stuff. I'm telling you: sisters can be a pain!"

"I had a sister," Stephan said. "She's probably dead."

"Oh, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have …"

Stephan shook his head and interrupted Friedrich. "You couldn't have known. And to be honest: I loved my sister, but she was sometimes a pain too. I actually always wanted at least one brother."

"Brothers are great!" Friedrich confirmed. "Oh, by the way: Do you play chess?"

"Yes, in Hungary I did. My father taught me," Stephan replied.

"Great! Perhaps with you on our side, Kurt and I will finally have a chance to beat Father. We always play against him as a team, but still we never beat him," Friedrich said. "But at least we win at poker. Our father, the master strategist, can't keep a straight face when he's got good cards."

"It sounds as if you have fun together," Stephan stated.

"Yes, we do. You know, such a big family as ours is fun. Of course, the girls and their friends can get tiresome sometimes, but all the same it's nice to always have someone to talk to. And we've got great parents. Our mother – she's father second wife and was once our governess – always has wonderful ideas of things we can do together," Friedrich told him. "I'm sure you'll like her."

Stephan looked out of the window again. Then he cleared his throat. "Ensign, do you have a photograph of your family?"

"Hey, Ensign is my rank! My _name_ is Friedrich!" He stood up and walked to the closest. "And of course I have pictures of my family." He pulled a wallet out, opened it and laid four photographs on the table. Kneeling down next to Stephan, he took the first one and handed it over. "Here – my parents with Liesl, my oldest sister."

Stephan took the photograph. It showed a rather young Georg, sitting on the wing of a chair with his arm around the shoulder of a dark-haired woman and smiling tenderly at the baby in her lap. "That's your real mother?" he asked.

"My birth mother," Friedrich corrected. "The one I have now feels rather real to me too. But yes, that was my birth mother. She died when I was eleven years old."

"I'm sorry. She was very beautiful." Stephan pretended to study the photograph, but his thoughts were far away. "I was eleven too when I lost my family."

"It must have been horrible," Friedrich said.

"I survived." Stephan didn't want to think of his family now, therefore he took the next photograph.

Friedrich looked at it too and laughed. "Our Uncle Max – a friend of Father's – took this and named it 'the Patriarch and his clan.'"

The photograph showed Georg sitting in a chair. In front of him sat four children. Friedrich pointed at them. "That's Gretl, who was our baby at the time. And here you have Marta, Brigitta and Louisa."

Behind Georg stood the rest of the family. A blonde woman had her hand on his shoulder and her other arm around a girl. Next to them were Friedrich and another boy.

Once again Friedrich explained: "That's Mother – I mean, my stepmother. Next to her is Liesl, my oldest sister, and next to me is Kurt."

"Your stepmother is lovely too – and she looks really nice," Stephan said.

"And here," Friedrich held up the next photograph, "you have the rest of the clan, except Phillip. He wasn't born yet."

The picture showed Georg standing behind his wife with his hands on her shoulders. She was holding a baby and in front of her sat a little boy.

Once again Stephan mostly looked at Georg's wife. She really did look pleasant – and so young! Georg had said she would like him – and he was sure he would come to like her, too. The longer he looked at the pictures, the less he wanted to live with his uncle. These people, Georg's family – he wished so much he could be with them. With them he would feel as if he had a real home again.

* * *

"Is that really necessary?" Georg looked angrily at the two medics who had just entered the ship's infirmary with a stretcher.

"Yes, it is!" the young doctor who stood at his bedside answered firmly. "Captain, your chances of getting this knee back in shape are already rather small. Strain it before it's properly healed and they're going to become nil!" he added almost rudely while pulling Georg's legs up. Ripping some pieces of medical tape, he put the little hose coming out of the thick bandage around the knee up on Georg's thigh and secured it there.

Georg still didn't like the idea of leaving the Shiloh on a stretcher. He knew that some people and probably even the press were waiting at the port and he hated to be presented to them as if he had been seriously injured. It was only his knee that didn't work properly at the moment! "You know, I could use crutches," he scowled at the doctor.

"To get up three staircases? Our staircases?" The doctor shook his head. "Not a chance, Captain. I'm responsible for you – and the Admiral would have my head if you fell down the stairs." He stuck another piece of tape to the hose. "There – done." He bent down and picked up the small bag that had hung by the bed, laying it next to Georg's leg. Nodding at the medics he said, "We can get him over to the stretcher now."

"I can do that myself!" Georg protested.

The doctor only rolled his eyes while the medics rolled the stretcher next to the bed. One held it firmly in place while the other came around to the doctor who had shoved his arm under Georg's shoulders. The medic took his legs and the doctor commanded: "On the count of three – one, two, three!"

Both men lifted Georg to the stretcher and let him carefully down. Just at that moment the ship lurched slightly to the side and Georg's injured knee bumped against the bed. It hurt, and he couldn't stop a moan.

"So much for disembarking on crutches!" the doctor commented dryly.

One of the medics now put a pillow under Georg's head while his colleague laid a blanket over him. He was about to secure it with leather straps when the doctor came with another one. "It's rather cold out there and I don't know how close the ambulance can come to our gangway. We don't want the good Captain to freeze."

Georg closed his eyes. From the movements of the ship and the sound of its engines he knew that they were already in port. And now he heard commands and a band started to play. The ship moved once more and then the engines were switched off.

As little as Georg liked leaving the boat on a stretcher, he was nevertheless glad that they had arrived at Cyprus. He would be taken directly to the hospital there, but he was sure he would get a chance there to call home. He longed to talk to Maria, to hear her voice at least and to tell her himself that he would come home. Of course, he wouldn't be able to make it in time for Christmas, but afterwards he would certainly get a long break. And perhaps – a thought that gave him rather mixed feelings – he would even stay grounded. Just the other night the Admiral had told him that he had spoken with his superior, the chief of naval operations. "He wants you on his staff. I think you're going to get a star. Only," he had grinned, "you'll have to wait for it until we're done in Trogir. I told my boss that I need you for the operation there."

A star – that meant he would get promoted to Rear Admiral lower half.

As a young officer Georg had been ambitious enough to dream of becoming an admiral once. However, now he wasn't so sure about wanting such a promotion anymore. Admirals, even in wartime, mostly worked at desks – and he had always loved the sea. Besides he was a U-boat man through and through. He liked the freedom he had on a submarine. In contrast to most surface ships, submarines mostly operated on their own and were therefore rather independent. And with U-boat crews rarely bigger than sixty or seventy men, they were normally a close community. Georg had always enjoyed that.

On the other hand a desk job in Washington would have one big advantage: he could stay with his family again. It would mean that he could sleep next to Maria, that he would come home in the evening to be a father to his children. And somehow he was quite convinced that he would soon be a father of eleven. After what he had heard about Stephan's uncle, he didn't think the boy would be happy with him. Georg didn't intend to let him suffer with strangers who didn't respect his beliefs. They were all that Stephan had kept from his family and he certainly needed this thread of connection to his past. Georg would fight for Stephan – the boy had become so close to him, he wouldn't let him go – unless he were convinced that the uncle would love Stephan and care for him as well as the boy deserved.

"Sir?" The voice of the medic broke through Georg's thoughts. "We're getting out now."

Georg raised his head and looked around. A seaman was just opening the hatch in front of the medic and Georg inhaled the salty, cold air greedily. He always found American ships to be overheated and was glad to come out again. He only wondered where Friedrich and Stephan were. Wouldn't they be accompanying him to the hospital?

The medics had almost arrived at the gangway now where the captain and his first officer stood. They both saluted Georg who put his hand to his sleeve too, regretting that he wasn't in uniform.

"God's speed, Captain von Trapp!" the Captain said. "It was a honour to have you as a guest on the Shiloh."

"Thank you. I'm grateful for your hospitality," Georg replied.

Out of the corner of his eye, Georg saw a small group of people waiting at the foot of the gangway. There was the Admiral, his hand on Stephan's shoulder and there, tall and handsome in his winter blues, was Friedrich. But what was the bundle he was holding so tenderly? A smaller figure, cloaked in a grey coat and wearing a powder blue cap bent over the bundle.

"Maria!" Georg whispered the name before he even became aware of speaking.

The Captain laughed. "Get Captain von Trapp off this ship – I think there's someone he rather urgently wishes to see."

The medics marched down the gangway, pulled down the stretcher's wheels, and set in on the ground, stepping aside. And then Maria was there, bending over the stretcher. Georg reached for her hand and looked up at her. "Maria!"

"Georg!" There were tears in her beautiful eyes, but her soft mouth smiled at him – and Georg suddenly neither minded the photographers nor his superior anymore. He pulled his wife down to him and kissed her deeply and tenderly.

It was she who broke the kiss, gently stroking his cheek. "Georg!" The word seemed to contain it all – her love for him, her longing, the grief she had gone through, and the happiness of having him back.

"Hey, give these people some privacy, will you?" Patricia Forrester was there, energetically shooing a few photographers and a man with a microphone away.

Her husband in the meantime grinned as proudly as if he had invented marital love. "Nice surprise, Captain?" he teased.

"The best! Thank you, Admiral!" Georg knew that his superior had needed to pull a few strings to get Maria to Cyprus and felt a warm surge of affection for the man.

"You haven't seen all of it yet! Ensign!" The Admiral turned around and reached out to the bundle in Friedrich's arms. "Let me do the honours, will you?" He smiled tenderly at the baby, then placed him in Georg's arm. "Captain von Trapp, may I introduce you to my godson Phillip Charles Georg von Trapp?"

Georg felt tears in his eyes as he looked down at his youngest son. Actually there wasn't much to see of him: He was wrapped in a big, warm blanket and had a cap on his head, covering even his ears. Nevertheless Georg thought the infant was the most beautiful he had ever seen and felt a rush of joy, love and gratitude.

"Admiral, Captain …" The young medic looked rather awkward. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's rather cold. I think we should get the Captain into the ambulance and to the hospital."

"Maria? Can you come with me?" Georg asked. He couldn't bear the thought of being separated from Maria already.

"Of course she can!" the Admiral boomed. "Pittypat came with her to baby-sit. Maria and Phillip are staying at my house, and so will the boys. And now off with you! I need you fit as soon as possible, so you catching a cold here certainly wouldn't do."

To be continued


	15. Chapter 15

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: My beta-reader Trapper is still a darling who works very quick! Besides: Thanks for the great reviews! They're a wonderful reward for writing.

_**Chapter 15: Adding to the family**_

December 1942

Maria bent down and kissed Phillip's forehead. The baby yawned and closed his eyes, immediately falling asleep. He almost always did and he was already sleeping all through the night. Sometimes Maria wondered about it. This son of hers who had been with her through such a troubled time was so easy to handle! Even the long flight hadn't disturbed him – he had slept through most of it, much to the delight of his "aunt" Patricia Forrester who couldn't stop praising him for being such a good boy. And Maria joined her in the praise. Phillip really was a marvel: always cheerful, smiling and giggling when someone played with him, studying the world around him with big eyes and happily sucking his pacifier and wrapping every one who came in contact with him around his little finger.

With a little sigh Maria went out of the big bedroom in the guest house of the Admiral's stately villa. Tomorrow she would fly back to Annapolis, taking Phillip and Stephan with her.

When she came to Cyprus, she had hoped that Georg would make the return trip with her. It would have been so wonderful to have him home for Christmas! However, he was an officer and though he had only been released from the hospital two days before, still limping heavily and in need of a walking stick, he was already back on duty. Actually he had already been back on duty while still in the hospital – during the three days before his release Maria had given up visiting him during the daytime because she always found people in his room: Captain Soller and a mysterious-looking civilian, the Admiral and other officers. And there had been maps and papers strewn over the bed and Maria had been complimented out – very kindly, but firmly – after a few minutes. Maria knew the men were planning an important mission – and the thought of it made her uneasy.

A part of her even felt angry about it. Georg had almost died on his last mission – and now, hardly back and still not entirely healthy, he already wanted to go into danger again? When she first heard about it, she had felt like yelling at him: "Don't you ever consider what it means to me when you're out there? Do you have any idea how it feels to sit at home and to fear for your husband's life every minute? Aren't you aware how much the children suffer?"

Yet as angry as she had been, another part of her knew that she had married a soldier and yes, she loved him for being a brave man who fought for his convictions. For Ritter von Trapp it was a question of "noblesse oblige" to do what he saw as his duty, even when it meant leaving his family and risking his life. Maria knew better than anyone else that she and the children meant the world to him, but she also knew that that alone was one of his reasons for fighting. He wanted to make the world a better, safer place for his family – and he certainly wasn't a man to lean back and twiddle his thumbs waiting for someone else to do what he thought had to be done.

As much as Maria longed to have him home – who was she to try to make him less of a man than he had been before marrying her? She had always detested women who saw the sacrifices their men made for them as proof of their love and who therefore demanded them. She certainly didn't intend to make her husband's life poorer and no, she certainly didn't think that her love would make up for him losing some of his values. She wanted him to have it all: her love and his noblesse, her respect and his values, her loyalty and his freedom to decide about his duties as he saw fit.

Entering the living room of the guest house, she found Stephan and Georg there. The boy sat on a chair, looking rather sullen, while Georg lay on the sofa, a pillow under his injured knee.

Maria went over to the second chair, ruffling Stephan's hair on her way there. She had already grown fond of Stephan – not only because he had saved Georg's life, but because he was such a brave, intelligent and kind boy.

"What are the two of you up to?" she asked, sitting down.

Stephan studied the pattern of the rug in front of him while Georg smiled. "We were arguing," he said dryly. "I'm trying to convince Stephan that he should at least give his uncle a chance."

"My father didn't like him!" Stephan said heatedly, but then looked down at the rug again. "But if you want to get rid off me …"

"Stephan, I forbid you to talk like that!" Georg sounded entirely the stern captain, and the boy flinched.

Maria's brows knit, and she bent forward and laid her hand on Stephan's arm. "We certainly don't want to get rid off you! Nevertheless, I agree with Georg: You should talk to your uncle. Perhaps you'll find he's nice. And he's family …"

"He's a Christian who dislikes Jews!"

"We're Christians too, Stephan!" Georg reminded the boy.

"You don't mind me being Jewish!" Stephan retorted.

"That's true," Maria confirmed. "However, I can't imagine your uncle not accepting it too. I mean, he was once Jewish himself, wasn't he?"

"That's probably why he hates everything Jewish now!" Stephan answered.

Georg raised his hands in defeat. "You win, Stephan! So let's try a compromise: you'll live with us, but you _will_ go see your uncle and you'll promise to try to at least meet him with an open mind. Perhaps you'll even find you'd prefer living with him. You know, with him you'd probably be an only child, while in our family you'll have to share almost everything with ten siblings. We're not rich, Stephan. Sometimes you'll want something we can't give you because other things are more important."

"I always wanted to have more siblings," Stephan was smiling now.

"I may remind you of that when you're fighting with them!" Georg grinned.

"I won't fight!"

"You're already fighting with me!" Georg sounded rather amused.

"You're not going to be my brother or sister!" Stephan defended himself.

"No, I'm not. I'm going to be your father." Georg grinned at Maria. "But luckily you can trust Maria to defend you when I come down too hard on you."

Maria laughed. "That means that Georg and I will fight quite a bit."

"You argue?" Stephan's eyes were huge. "But you love each other!"

"Of course, but Maria's got quite a temper!"

"I do love him, but Georg is stubborn as a mule!"

Maria and Georg had spoken at the same time and were now laughing. Georg shifted on the couch and reached out to her. "Over here, woman!" he commanded. "Let's tell Stephan all about the rules in our family."

Maria got up, smiled at Stephan and went over to Georg. Even in the hospital he had always wanted to have her close, and despite his usual aversion to public displays of intimacy he had even kept her hand in his when someone would enter the room. Maria liked that – she felt as if she was starved for his touch and his closeness. However, sitting down at his side now and having her hand kissed by him made her almost blush. His smell and the warmth of his body reminded her of the previous night.

The first night after his release from the hospital Georg had hardly gotten into bed before falling asleep. In the morning he had apologized and kissed her passionately, but then Phillip had demanded his breakfast, keeping his parents away from each other.

However, last night Phillip had been sleeping deeply when Maria last looked in on him. When she entered the bedroom, Georg had already been waiting for her in bed. At first she had felt a bit reluctant about making love to him. His knee was still bandaged, he was so terribly thin and was still so easily exhausted. As much as she longed for him, she hadn't wanted to overstrain him. But then he had kissed her almost desperately and she had heard him whisper, "Please, Maria – I need you so badly!"

Never before had he begged for her and it had almost broken her heart. Knowing that he needed her had made her more active than usual. Pushing him onto his back, she had slipped out of her nightshirt and bent over him, kissing him and saying, "Let me make love to you, Georg!" She had straddled him and, looking deep into his eyes, she had started to move.

It had felt wonderful, and as he fell asleep in her arms afterward she had not only been as happy and content as she was used to being after making love with him, but she had also been proud of herself. To know that she was able to please the man she loved, that she was able to make her proud captain moan and cry out in abandon – though tonight she had bent down, closing his mouth with a kiss, thinking of the children in the adjoining rooms – had given her self-confidence a boost.

"What rules are there in your family?" Stephan asked, sounding wary.

Before Georg could open his mouth, Maria chuckled and said: "The first one is discipline. And bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions, not even during thunderstorms. And of course, our children are to conduct themselves with the utmost orderliness and decorum."

Stephan swallowed and looked questioningly at Georg. He rolled his eyes. "She'll never let me live that down!" he sighed. "You remember, Stephan, how I told you once about Maria coming to our house as the children's governess? That was what I told her then about the way I wanted my children to be raised."

"But since then we've softened him up!" Maria chuckled and squeezed Georg's hand.

"However, I still believe bedtime is to be observed – though I see now that there are sometimes reasons to make an exception," Georg said. "And I expect manners, punctuality, orderliness and discipline." His voice became softer again. "Actually I don't think I need to discuss these things with you. You have fine manners; you're punctual and disciplined. There _is_ another point we need to talk about though. When you arrive in Annapolis tomorrow, an officer from the JAG office – that means someone on the staff of the Judge Advocate General; they deal with all legal issues concerning the military – will meet you. You'll need to tell him that you've come to stay with us of your own free will. With that statement, he can grant us temporary guardianship of you."

"I understand," Stephan nodded.

Georg looked at Maria. She smiled – they had already talked about that in the hospital – and took over. "Georg and I have spoken with a JAG officer here about your future. If you really want to live with us, we have two options. We could ask to get full guardianship of you. Or the other possibility is an adoption. It would make you truly our son."

"Stephan," Georg said, "we don't expect you to decide about that tonight. Think about it over the next few weeks – there's no hurry. And whatever you decide, it will be fine with us."

Stephan was studying the rug once more. "I think I'd very much like to become your son," he said slowly.

"But?" Maria asked, feeling that there was more.

"Would I need to change my name?"

Maria looked at Georg. He had thought of that and had asked the law officer about it. Obviously he knew Stephan rather well already.

"You could hyphenate your name," Georg now answered the boy's question. "You'd become Stephan Lonyay-Ritter von Trapp."

"That's a bit of a mouthful." Stephan nevertheless looked rather pleased. "Stephan Lonyay-Ritter von Trapp," he tried for himself.

"For everyday wear Lonyay-von Trapp would do," Georg laughed. "It would spare you having to explain at school what 'Ritter' means."

"Do you think I could go to school already after Christmas?" Stephan asked eagerly.

"Oho! I expect you to," Georg answered. "In fact, I expect you to start studying as soon as you're in America. Kurt and Brigitta will help you. You've missed a lot, but I know you're smart. You'll make up for it as quickly as possible."

"There's only one problem with your schooling," Maria said. "We're probably going to move again soon. Georg's being transferred to Washington, so we'll go to live there. Perhaps we'll wait to put you in school until after the move. Until then I'm going to be your tutor." She looked at Georg. "Knowing the speed with which the Navy reacts, I'd say we'll move pretty soon."

"I hope so." Georg laughed. "I'd very much like to sleep in my own bed on a regular basis."

"Speaking of bed," Stephan stood up. "I think I'll go there now. I'm pretty tired." Looking awkward once again he said: "There's one question left …"

"Hmm?" Georg encouraged him.

"If I become your son," Stephan hesitated, cleared his throat and looked up, "could I call you Mother and Father then?"

"Of course, I'd like that!" Georg answered.

"So would I," Maria assured him and stood up. "I'd even like to start being a bit motherly over you already." She laid her hand on his shoulder, bent down and kissed his cheek. "Good night, Stephan. Sleep well and sweet dreams!"

Georg had gotten up too and now ruffled Stephan's hair. "Don't forget to brush your teeth, young man! Good night!"

"Good night, Maria; good night, Georg!" The boy disappeared.

Maria pushed her hand into Georg's. "He's a wonderful boy!"

"He is indeed. I'm glad you like him.

Maria hugged him. "You know what getting Stephan as our son would mean?"

"Hmm?" His mouth was in her hair.

"We'd only need one more baby to make our dozen full." Maria chuckled, let her hand glide down his back and squeezed his buttock. "Feel like working on it?"

* * *

One hour later Maria knew that her invitation hadn't been a good idea. They had kissed and touched and Georg had pleasured her with his hands and mouth. It had been as lovely as ever, and as ever it had made her want to feel him deep inside of her.

Only then had she learned that she had overestimated her husband's recovery. His body had refused to play along, not even with a little tender help from her.

It had frustrated him to no end. He had rolled away from her. "It's no use, Maria. I'm sorry." Sitting on the bedside he had reached for his pyjama bottoms. Maria, knowing that pulling on trousers was still a rather difficult task for him, had wanted to help, but he hadn't allowed it. Instead he had struggled with his trousers, scowling at her: "Please, let me keep what little is left of my dignity." He had disappeared into the bathroom and had only come back 15 minutes later.

Now he was in bed next to her but obviously not in the mood to talk. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling, and Maria had needed to nudge him twice before he would at least allow her to rest her head on his shoulder. She was now stroking his chest – and he really was too thin with every rib tangible under the skin – and felt almost like crying.

"I'm sorry, Georg," she said after a while.

"What for? You didn't fail me." He still sounded angry.

Inwardly sighing, Maria shook her head. "You didn't fail me either. I should have known that you're still not fully recuperated and need rest."

"I'll get enough rest when you're gone tomorrow," he grumbled.

"Georg, don't be so hard on yourself!" Maria begged him. "You've had such a difficult time and your body needs some time to recuperate from it."

He only made a grumbling sound, but at least he turned his head and kissed Maria's forehead.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too." He sighed. "Therefore I would have liked …" He fell silent.

"I know, Georg." She bent over him and kissed him tenderly. "In a few weeks you'll come home and then we'll have each other every night."

"Let's hope we won't have this problem every night," he scowled.

"Oh, Georg – don't be silly!" Maria kissed him again. "You know yourself that you're still full of painkillers and sulphonamide and you haven't gotten enough sleep in the last couple of days. Instead you were on your feet all day. So it's no wonder your body wants rest now. I'm sure what you call our 'problem' won't be one when you're back home." She giggled. "And you know what? I've always wanted to make love to an Admiral."

"Oho? Here I thought you'd be quite happy with a mere captain!" Georg pulled her closer.

"Only when the captain is a certain Georg von Trapp!" Maria pulled the blanket up and tucked it gently around her husband's shoulders. "And before you ask: the same goes for admirals. I wouldn't take any old admiral – as cute as Charles Forrester can be. I only want a particular one. But before I have him again he needs to get a lot of rest and food. He's much too pale and thin. So let's start with the sleep …" Once again she bent over him. "Good night, Georg. I do love you."

"And I love you, Maria! Good night!"

* * *

Liesl von Trapp looked at the crumpled note in her hand and then at the big house behind the iron gates. In its grandeur it reminded her of the villa in Aigen she had once lived in, and there was even a fountain in the yard, though it was covered with wooden planks now.

Was she really in the right place? Of course, Finlay had mentioned that it was a big house – but this actually wasn't a house, but a _mansion_. However, the note in Finlay's handwriting said: "Christopher Fenswick, Lincoln Boulevard 38, Washington D.C." And this huge building – it was Lincoln Boulevard 38. The number on the gate said so. Yet there wasn't a name plate – only a doorbell on the wall.

"If you ever need to contact me urgently, just go see my brother. I've told him about you. And you know, he's got some connections," Finlay had said as he had given her the note.

Now she really needed him urgently, and so she was here – and breathing deeply, she rang the bell.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then the door of the house opened and a middle-aged man, red-headed and freckled, wearing a black suit came out and staggered towards the gate.

Liesl hadn't grown up with servants for nothing. She recognized a butler when she saw one – and this one looked like the very model of an English butler.

Standing now in front of her on the other side of the gate, he opened his mouth and said with a very English accent: "Good day. What can I do for you?" He scrutinized her sceptically, his blue eyes cold and distant.

Liesl braced her shoulders and suppressed the impulse to tug at the sleeves of her coat. They were rather short – Maria had already said that she would need a new coat this winter. This one probably made her look like a school girl – and so did the woollen stockings, the simple blue pleated skirt and the white blouse she wore underneath.It probably hadn't been a good idea to come here directly from her appointment. She should have changed first. On the other hand: she really needed Finlay! And who was she to be intimated by a butler? Raising her chin up, she looked at him and said firmly: "Good day to you too. I am Baroness Elisabeth von Trapp and I'd like to see Mr. Fenswick."

The butler opened the gates. "I'll inquire if his lordship will be able to see you. If you'd please follow me, Baroness?"

His lordship? Finlay hadn't mentioned his brother being Lord Fenswick! But it made sense – she had already wondered why Finlay had a double name while his brother was only Christopher Fenswick. As daughter of an English woman, Liesl knew that in the English aristocracy only the head of the family carried the title while the younger brother were "The Honourable Mister this or that." Yet the noble families often had double names.

The butler led her into the hall of the house. Although tastefully decorated, Liesl found it rather dim with the dark wooden panels and some old, rather dusty-looking flags hanging from the ceiling.

"If you'd please wait here?" The butler showed her to a sofa upholstered in dark brown leather, standing in front of a big fireplace.

There wasn't a fire in it, and Liesl pulled her cloak tighter around her while sitting down, hoping she wouldn't need to wait too long in the rather chilly room.

She only waited one minute. She heard a door open and then quick steps on the marble floor. Standing up, she turned and looked at the man who was walking towards her.

There was a likeness to Finlay, but it was rather superficial: Christopher Fenswick was tall, blond and blue-eyed too, but he was at least fifteen years older than Finlay, had broad shoulders and a prominent, hawk-like nose. His eyes were paler than Finlay's, an almost icy blue with a hint of grey and they looked, despite his polite smile, cold.

Standing now in front of her, wearing a perfectly cut dark blue suit with a silver grey vest and a silver and black striped tie, he bowed and offered her his hand – as a true English gentleman he knew of course that one didn't kiss an unmarried woman's hand. "I'm Christopher Fenswick. A pleasure to meet you, Baroness." His voice was a pleasant surprise: a smoky basso with the melodious pronunciation of a well-groomed Oxford graduate.

"Lord Fenswick," Liesl had taken his hand and briefly squeezed it, "it's very kind of you to see me."

"Would you like to take tea with me?" he asked.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time. I know you're a very busy man," Liesl replied, coming directly to the point. "I only came because I need to contact your brother."

"You're not taking up too much of my time at all." Lord Fenswick opened a door to their left. "Do come in, Baroness, and have a chair at the fire. It's rather chilly in the hall." He nodded to the butler who had appeared again,standing quietly behind his master. "Yates, take the Baroness' coat. We'll have tea in the blue salon."

Actually, Liesl didn't like to be ordered around like that, but she really needed to talk to Finlay!

"Yes, my lord." The butler stepped to Liesl and helped her out of her coat.

Liesl sighed inwardly and let herself be led into a big room with walls covered in blue silk. There was a fire burning, and the lord offered her one of the chairs that were grouped in front of it around a table. Sitting down opposite of her, Lord Fenswick stretched his long legs, laid his fingers together and looked at her, his eyes still rather cold in contrast with his polite smile. "I'm afraid I can't get you in contact with my brother at the moment," he then said. "Finlay's boat left Cyprus two days ago for a mission. It's supposed to be away for at least two weeks." His smile became a bit crooked. "I actually thought you'd know that. The Dallas is accompanied by the USS Liberty which is, if I'm informed correctly, once again commanded by your father."

"I didn't know. I haven't seen my father in weeks." Liesl felt as if she was going to faint. "Besides my father never talks about his work," she heard herself say while fighting against the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. What had she been thinking by coming here? Even if the lord were able to contact Finlay – how could he help her? She was an officer's daughter and as such she should know that Finlay could hardly tell his captain, "So sorry, but I have to go home at once – my girlfriend needs me."

It had been stupid to come here. There was no help for her, not from Finlay and certainly not from his cold-hearted brother.

"I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have bothered you," Liesl said and stood up. "Could your butler perhaps call a cab for me?"She suddenly felt dizzy and needed to grip the back of the chair to brace herself.

Suddenly she felt a strong hand gripping her arm. "Sit down, Baroness! You're in no state to leave yet." Lord Fenswick almost pushed her down into the chair.

"Tea, my lord!" The butler entered with a tray and laid out the table.

"Thank you, Yates – we'll serve ourselves," Lord Fenswick dismissed his servant.

"Very well, my lord."

Pouring a cup of tea and handing it to Liesl, Lord Fenswick studied her face, a deep crease between his eyebrows. Sighing he said: "Let's not dance around the subject, Baroness. Are you with child?"

Liesl almost choked on her tea. Lowering her head – she had never felt so ashamed in her life – she whispered, "Yes. How did you know?" She couldn't help it anymore – she started to cry.

"Here! Take my handkerchief. Women never have one when they really need it." There was a hint of humour in the deep voice, but it became cold again immediately. "How did I know? Well, I know about my brother's talent for getting himself and other people in trouble. As soon as I heard about his – what shall I call it? – _relationship_ with you, I started to fear something like that." He sounded bitter and harsh. "However, there's no use crying over spilt milk. I will need to contact my brother as soon as he's back in Cyprus. Until then, I'll speak to our lawyer and to my sister-in-law – you do know my brother is married, don't you?"

Had there been an accusation in his voice? Liesl held on to his handkerchief as it were a lifeline. She wished the earth would open beneath her and give her a chance to disappear. Lord Fenswick made her love story sound like something … no, she didn't want to think about. It made her furious and went against her pride. So raising her chin, she looked at him and said firmly, "Finlay told me so, yes. He also told me that he has lived separated from his wife for many years and only didn't divorce her because he wanted her to have the Navy's support."

"From now on I'll have to support her," Lord Fenswick said. "She's a member of the family and a decent, hard-working woman."

Liesl didn't know what to answer to that. Looking down at her lap, she tried to stop crying. Since her visit to the doctor a few hours ago, she had felt like her life had been turned upside down. She had walked through the city for hours, not noticing the cold and the people staring at her, her mind trying to sort out what to do. She was expecting a child – and despite all the difficulties, she wanted it. It was Finlay's child and she loved him. Yet how was she to raise a child? Where would she live? What would become of her career? And how to tell her parents that she was pregnant by a married man? She didn't even want to imagine what her father would have to say to that and what he would do to Finlay.

"I'm rather used to cleaning up after my dear, little brother," Lord Fenswick said, sounding very sarcastic. "But this time he's really outdone himself. This is going to be a lot of trouble." He looked at Liesl. "How far along are you, Baroness?"

"Nine weeks," Liesl answered.

"Hmm – that gives us at least a little time to get this mess straightened out. Baroness, will you be able to keep your pregnancy a secret for a few weeks until my brother is divorced?"

"Yes, I think so. Only I intended to talk to my mother this evening," Liesl replied. She still felt like running away. The idea that Lord Fenswick should become involved in her problem didn't sit well with her. But she didn't have any choice, did she?

"Bad idea!" Lord Fenswick had stood up and was pacing across the room. "Your father is known for being very strict. You can only hope that he agrees to keep this hush-hush to spare himself the scandal. On the other hand …" He came back to the fireplace, bracing his hands on the mantelpiece and staring into the flames. "I could pull a few strings. Admiral Forrester owes me a favour. If I can get Finlay back immediately after his mission …" He turned around and looked at her. "We'll send him off to Reno – there he can get a divorce very quickly. So in two or three weeks he can have it. Then he elopes with you; afterwards we'll send you somewhere nice – California or some such place. You'll have your baby there and we'll tell your parents that it came too early …"

"No!" Liesl interrupted him. "I will keep my pregnancy secret until Finlay is divorced, but I certainly won't lie to my parents. I know Father will be disappointed and furious, but I also know that he'll forgive me."

"Your father may forgive you," Lord Fenswick said. "Only I don't think that the future Rear Admiral von Trapp will forgive an officer under his command an act of adultery. He's known for his integrity and strong sense of duty. We should give him at least a chance to believe that there wasn't anything he would have to investigate."

"I don't understand how my father's future commission and my relationship with Finlay are connected!" Liesl said.

Lord Fenswick rolled his eyes and sat down in his chair again, pouring himself another cup of tea. "Baroness, the facts are ugly, but you nevertheless need to be aware of them. Your child is the proof that my brother committed adultery – whether you like to see it like that or not. The Navy will take it as adultery – and that's conduct unbecoming an officer. If your father, as Finlay's superior officer, learns about it, duty requires him to get my brother court-martialed." He sighed. "I don't believe they would put Finlay in prison – not during a war when they need every experienced U-boat man. But I'm sure they wouldn't let come him away easily either. In this case it certainly wouldn't help that Finlay is my brother and an Admiral's son-in-law – just the opposite. Knowing the Judge Advocate General, I'd even say he'd make an example of Finlay, showing that no one, not even an admiral's son-in-law, is allowed to mess around with the rules."

He once again stood up and began to pace. "The scandal wouldn't do your father's career any good either. There are a lot of people around here who already think he's advanced too quickly. They would love to get the Sec Nav's(1) pet hero brought down a peg or two."

Liesl had laid her hand over her mouth and swallowed. She felt almost sick. "I didn't know that," she whispered.

"How could you? You're not an officer." Lord Fenswick walked over to a cabinet and opened. "I think I need a drink now. Something for you too?"

Liesl shook her head. "No, thanks. It wouldn't be good for the baby." She watched how Lord Fenswick poured himself a glass of whiskey. "I am an officer's daughter," she said quietly. "I should have known."

"How so?" Christopher Fenswick came back to his chair. "From all that I've heard about your father, I don't think adultery is a subject he ever thought about. It requires the famous recklessness of someone like my brother to get into such a fix …"

Liesl raised her head. Bracing herself she said firmly: "Lord Fenswick, your brother wasn't alone in that. He did nothing that I didn't wish him to do."

Christopher Fenswick played with his glass, making the whiskey in it swirl. The angry crease between his eyebrows had appeared again and his voice sounded icy as he stated, "I hate to repeat myself, Baroness, but the fact remains: you're not an officer. Besides, my brother is older and more experienced than you. He should have shown more responsibility."

"I know you don't like Finlay much," Liesl replied heatedly. As grateful as she was that he was searching for ways to get his younger brother out of a scandal, she found the arrogance with which he spoke about Finlay infuriating.

"Yes, that's what Finlay keeps telling me." Christopher Fenswick sipped at his whiskey. "And I only always try to help him out because I hate the idea of our family's oh-so-good name becoming smirched." He smiled bitterly. "If only it were as simple as that!"

"Isn't it?"

"It certainly is not!" He once again played with his glass, watching how the honey-brown liquid swirled in it. "I'm well aware that Finlay is an exceptionally gifted musician and I've always appreciated how hard he works and how devoted he is to his music. Besides, I see that my brother is charming, smart, and able to develop an amazing amount of empathy – not implicitly towards me, but that's probably more a fault of mine than one of his. However, I can understand why a girl like you fell in love with Finlay. My awareness of his better traits doesn't keep me from seeing his flaws too. Finlay is reckless, too impulsive, and sometimes plainly and simply egotistical. I don't blame that entirely on him – more on his parents. He was always their golden boy and spoiled to no end." He emptied his glass and stood up. "Back to our problem: what do you intend to do until we can get Finlay back?"

Liesl shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't thought about it yet. I believe I'd be best going back to New York – I could tell Mother that I need to continuewith my studies." She felt another tear run down her cheek. "I don't think I could hide my pregnancy for long living under the same roof as my mother. She knows me pretty well."

"Hmm." Lord Fenswick stood at the fireplace again, tugging at his left cuff. "I actually don't much like the idea of you being on your own. You're with child – you need regular and healthy meals, rest, and someone to look after you. I'd rather have you here than in New York."

"I wouldn't know how to explain that to my mother," Liesl said. The idea of staying in this gloomy house with a host who had only taken her in because he felt obliged to his brother – no, she really didn't like it.

"Let me think about it. There must be a way to make an invitation from me not only plausible, but acceptable – I'll give it some thought. But now I should try to contact my lawyer and arrange an appointment with my sister-in-law. I'll probably fly to New York tomorrow, but as soon as I'm back you'll hear from me. You live in Annapolis, don't you? My driver will get you there."

* * *

Nervously Liesl leafed through a magazine. She couldn't concentrate on it; her mind was entirely occupied with other thoughts. It was two days now since she had gone to Washington, and as hard as she found it not to talk to Maria about her problem, she had actually felt better after her talk with Lord Fenswick. But it was now around dinnertime and she hadn't heard him from. Hadn't he said he would get in contact with her today? Why hadn't he at least called? She had spent the entire day at home, hoping and waiting.

Once again she looked at her watch. Ten to seven – she would go now and help Maria and Susan prepare dinner. It would at least be a welcome diversion.

Slowly she walked to the kitchen where she heard Maria and Susan talking and laughing together. Ever since Maria had come back from Cyprus, she had been in an exceptionally good mood, smiling and singing all day. Not even the thought that her husband was out on a mission again could spoil her happiness. "I know he'll come home soon – and then we'll move, and he will be with us again," she had said.

She had already started to search for a new house. Just this morning she had been in Washington with Stephan – the two had become very close over the last several days – and at lunch they had both only talked about the two houses they had seen, comparing their strong and weak points.

Liesl was glad that Maria was so occupied with planning the family's future – it made it so much easier for her to hide her worries from her.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Liesl asked as she entered the kitchen.

Maria smiled at her. "You can help set the table. We're having mushroom soup and then Backhendl (2) and potato salad." Maria had become a good cook during the last few years and she was proud of it.

"Backhendl? Do we have something to celebrate?" Liesl asked.

"Yes, my darlings, we have!" Max Detweiler entered the kitchen, bent down, kissed Maria's cheek and grinned at her. "You've developed abilities as a seer, haven't you?" Turning to Liesl he pulled her into his arms, lifted her up and swung her around as he had so often done when she had been a small child. "You are going to get to sing with Solveig Coulter."

"Dame Solveig Coulter?" Liesl stared at her Uncle Max as if he had just sprouted a second head. Since Liesl had heard her two years before at the Met, Dame Solveig Coulter had become one of her idols. She had read all about her – that she had been born and raised in Sweden, had become engaged at the opera in Stockholm at the age of twenty-two, then had met the famous English conductor Sir Lawrence Coulter there and fallen in love with him. Despite being thirty-two years her senior, he had married her and taken her to England with him. There she had become a big star at the Opera in London. Now, in her mid forties, she was a widow but still one of the great opera divas. And she still looked like a Nordic goddess with her honey-blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes.

"Don't tease me, Uncle Max! Why would someone as great as Dame Solveig Coulter want to sing with a little beginner like me?" Liesl shook her head.

"Because you're a raising star?" Max stroked his moustache.

"And how would Dame Solveig know that?"

"I think for that you need to thank a certain officer-turned-conductor from Chicago," Max grinned. "He obviously told her about you."

"Finlay told Dame Solveig about me?" Liesl couldn't believe it.

"Not exactly." Max smiled at Maria and Liesl. "Don't you want to come into the study with me? I want to get into Georg's port before he's back and keeps it away from me once again. And I'll tell you the entire story there."

Liesl was already walking over to the study where she poured some of her father's port in a glass and handed it to Max. "Now tell me, please!" she demanded.

"Pretty please!" Maria added, sitting down on the wing of the chair Liesl had occupied and laying her arm across her daughter's shoulders.

Max sipped at the port. "Well, then: Yesterday morning I got a call from the British Embassy. A secretary asked me if I could come over there today at three o'clock. The minister of the Embassy – that's the second in command there, the deputy of the ambassador – would like to talk to me. I could figure out about what: his Majesty's Embassy is known for its annual Christmas party. It's one of the big social events in Washington, always celebrated on December 26. And it always starts with a concert: a famous English musician presents a young talent – usually an American one to honour the host country." He once again sipped at his port, looking like the cat who had swallowed the canary. "When I learned the name of the minister, I started to suppose that the young talent he wanted out of my lot might be Liesl."

"How so?" Maria asked.

"The minister is Christopher Carson Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge," Max answered cheerfully. "He's the older brother of the Honourable Finlay Carson-Fenswick."

"Oh, how wonderful! And he really wants Liesl?" Maria patted Liesl's hand. "Isn't that exciting?"

"Indeed, he does wants Liesl. I just had tea with him – he's a very charming man and obviously well-educated in matters of music – and he told me that his brother had spoken to him about Liesl. And since Dame Solveig appreciates Finlay Carson-Fenswick very much, she would be delighted to present someone he recommended."

Liesl forced a smile. Her feelings were mixed. To be presented by a star like Dame Solveig Coulter, to sing with her in a concert – it sounded like a dream come true. Only she hadn't earned this big chance through her talent as a singer, but as a part of Lord Fenswick's plan to get his brother out of trouble. Of course, Finlay must have mentioned that she was a singer and he had probably even praised her voice, but nevertheless Liesl was pretty sure that she wouldn't have gotten this engagement without the "special circumstances."

"There's more to it," Max said now. "Lord Fenswick has invited you to stay at his house until the concert. Dame Solveig is his guest too, and he thinks she'd like to have you as company. Besides, this arrangement makes it easier for you to rehearse with Dame Solveig and the orchestra."

Once again Liesl forced a smile. She didn't like this arrangement, but she was determined to make the best of it. She would show Lord Fenswick that she was a good singer! "Uncle Max – what am I going to sing? I mean, I've only got a few days for rehearsals, so I can't do anything completely new."

"Lord Fenswick and Dame Solveig are aware of that. You'll get two new pieces, but both very easy: Two English Christmas songs you'll sing with Dame Solveig as encores. And you'll also do the Susanna-Comtess duet from 'Figaro' – you'll sing Susanna."

"Oh, that's good – I've studied that part very well." Liesl felt relieved. She had done that piece a few times with her teacher in New York and was comfortable with it.

"For the solo you'll do the first aria from 'Jauchzet Gott in allen Landen' (3)," Max told her now.

"Oh, that's a tough one!" Maria said.

"Liesl does it very well," Max smiled. "It's one of her best pieces, and it's great for showing off her voice and her technique."

"I never heard you sing it, darling," Maria looked at Liesl.

"It doesn't work without a trumpet," Liesl replied. "But you know what? We'll make Johannes learn how to play the trumpet – than I can sing it with him."

"First you'll sing it at the Embassy!" Max laughed. "Tomorrow I'll get you to Lord Fenswick's house."

"Oh my – I need a new dress!" Liesl exclaimed. "I have nothing I could wear to such a big event!"

"That's why we'll go to Washington tomorrow," Max laughed. "At two o'clock you'll see Ricardo. He's the finest couturier in Washington and he'll present you with a dress – courtesy of the Embassy."

"How wonderful! And you know what?" Maria stroked Liesl's hair back. "I'll lend you the earrings your father gave me on our wedding anniversary last year. They'll look so lovely on you! Oh, Liesl – your father and I are going to be so proud of you!"

"Mother!" Liesl hugged Maria, hiding her face against Maria's shoulder. She had thought she wouldd never feel more ashamed than when Lord Fenswick had asked her about her pregnancy, but now it was even worse. If Maria knew what was really going on!

Actually, Liesl was sure that Maria would continue to love her. She would probably even defend her against Georg. But at the same time she would be disappointed in Liesl – and Liesl was sure that her mother's disappointment would be as hard to bear as her father's rage.

Her baby really couldn't have found a worse time for its appearance in the world. As much as Liesl already loved it – it would have been so much easier to have this child in a few years!

to be continued

(1) Sec Nav: Secretary of the Navy.

(2) Backhendl: A bread-crusted, fried chicken – a typical Austrian speciality.

(3) Johann Sebastian Bach, Cantata "Jauchzet Gott in allen Landen" for soprano, trumpet and orchestra, BWV 51.


	16. Chapter 16

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

As always I have to thank my beta Trapper!

_**Chapter **__**16: Casualties of war**_

December 1942

Impatiently Georg drummed his fingers against the cold metal of the periscope shaft. He had long before learned that waiting was a big part of a U-boat commander's life, but this knowledge didn't make it easier for him. Looking at his watch for what certainly was the hundredth time in the last few hours, he felt like cursing his admiral. What had Forrester been thinking when he ordered the Liberty to back the Dallas? It was Georg who had developed the plan for the mission; it was he who knew the place best; therefore it should have been him in the middle of the action with the Dallas backing his boat! Yet the admiral hadn't wanted to hear anything about that. When Georg tried for the second time to change the admiral's mind, Charles Forrester had gotten angry at him. "Must I really remind you that I'm your commanding officer, Captain von Trapp and that it's therefore me who decides which boat is doing what?"

So Georg was here now, only a few miles from the island where he had lived with Stephan – but of course not seeing it because the USS Liberty was lying low with only one of her big engines working at the lowest possible level, waiting and listening out in the dark.

Looking around his bridge, Georg registered that his men weren't too happy about the situation either. They were bored and frustrated and the silence was probably getting as much on their nerves as it was on his. It probably made them think of home, the family men among them probably imagining their children impatiently waiting for the morning. The younger crew members – a few of the seamen on board were only eighteen or nineteen years old – were probably thinking about what their mothers would cook for Christmas and how their mothers would feel to celebrate the holiday without their sons. And probably all of them envied the petty officer and the lieutenant at the sonar. They at least had something to do!

Georg felt uneasy about starting the mission just on Christmas Eve. It simply felt wrong to fight and to destroy in what was supposed to be the "Holy night." It was wrong to be prepared for killing when out there, in the churches on the mainland, priests were talking about "peace on earth" and when people all over the world celebrated the birth of the One who had come to bring peace.

On the other hand the Admiral, who had chosen this date, had made good points about it – and one of them was that on Christmas Eve certainly no one would be working at the shipyard. "We have a good chance of destroying it without any civilian casualties," he had said.

They even had a good chance to fulfil their mission without killing any seamen either. The Germans certainly didn't expect the Americans to strike on Christmas Eve, so they wouldn't have too many ships guarding the area. And even the few that were out to sea probably wouldn't notice what happened in Trogir because their crews would be busy celebrating.

Once again Georg looked at his watch. Ten minutes to two – if everything had gone as planned, the scuba divers had deposited their dangerous load by now, had set up the timers, and were on their way back to the Dallas. In half an hour they would arrive at the Dallas and go on board again. As soon as they were in, the Dallas would start its engines and leave the bay as quickly as possible. Of course, there was the risk that someone would hear or even see her – but only ten minutes after the Dallas' departure the shipyard would explode and the Dallas would meet the Liberty. They would both dive and head towards Malta. By then the Germans would probably search for them, but the weather – it was a cold, but clear night – would be a disadvantage to their pursuers. The Lincoln and the English aircraft carrier HMS Invincible were near Malta. Their pilots would keep the Germans so busy they would hardly have a chance to find the two submarines.

The English even had a "special gift" for the Germans: Water bombs that wouldn't really explode, but would make noise for at least half an hour. "With one of these things close to a ship, you could drive your submarine right under its keel with all of your men singing the Star-Spangled Banner – and the Germans still wouldn't be able to hear you!" the English engineer who had developed these special bombs had told Georg.

"Captain?" The quiet voice of the Lieutenant at the sonar broke through Georg's reverie. "I think you should listen to this." He offered Georg a headset and rotated the instrument almost tenderly toward him.

Georg put the headset on and closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on hearing. There it was: the characteristic "swish-swish" of a propeller grubbing through the sea. The sound had already come closer, and now Georg could hear even : a very quiet metallic clanking – as if a chain were bumping against something.

"Verdammt!" he cursed – when tense, he sometimes still spoke German. "It's the Berchtesgaden! And she's going towards Trogir!"

Was it a mere coincidence that the German frigate Berchtesgaden was heading towards Trogir just now or had she been called because someone had spotted the Dallas?

There was no time to think about it. The Dallas was at her most vulnerable while taking in the scuba divers. Besides she couldn't afford to lose any time – she had to leave the bay before the bombs in the shipyard exploded.

A situation like that was just why the Liberty was there. Turning around, Georg pulled the headset off and commanded: "Blow on, LE. I just want to get a look out." Sitting down at the periscope, he pressed a button and spoke into the microphone: "Red alert. All hands at battle stations, water all torpedo bays, engines ready for full speed."

The light on the bridge changed from a soft blue to red and the sudden noise – ballast streaming into the diving cells, the locks of the torpedo bays opening and water pouring in, the second engine churning to life – was deafening after the long silence. But this time Georg, like every U-boat man rather sensitive towards noise – didn't mind. The Germans were on their way with full speed. They certainly wouldn't hear the Liberty through the noise their own engines were producing. Besides, if they _did_ hear the U-boat, it would make them turn away from the Trogir bay and would thus win the Dallas the time she needed.

"Weapon control and steering to my station!" Georg commanded, tossing his cover aside, and driving the periscope up. Pressing his eyes against the cold metal, he waited with his breath held until the lens broke through the surface and the sight became clear. "Just so, Lieutenant – keep me here!" he ordered and started a very slow turn, looking out into the darkness. There – he saw a dark shadow.

"Got it!" he whispered and took over the controls, turning the boat until its nose pointed towards the German frigate. "Bay one ready!"

"Bay one ready!" a voice confirmed.

"Bay one fire!"

The boat rose a bit as the torpedo shot out of its bay, but the engineer at the helm immediately got it back under control.

"Blower, shoot bays two, three and four!" Georg ordered.

In the background he heard a seaman counting: "Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-one …"

The confirmations came in:

"Bay two ready."

"Bay four ready."

"Bay three ready."

Georg gave the boat a tiny turn. "Fire!"

"Bay two fired!"

"Bay three fired!"

"Bay four fired!"

"Reload!" Georg commanded. Normally U-boat commanders were rather sparing with their torpedoes – one never knew how many one would need until coming back to port – but in this case Georg was willing to give out all he had.

"Ten – nine – eight – seven – six – five – four – three ..." the sailor was still counting. Georg looked over at his first officer. Morgan Grammings had a watch in his hand too and nodded towards Georg. He was waiting for the other torpedoes.

"… one – zero!" The count for the first torpedo was up. Everyone seemed to hold his breath, waiting for an explosion. It didn't come; instead the Lieutenant at the sonar announced: "Ignite failure!"

"Verflucht!" Georg cursed – ignite failures were still one of the biggest problems with torpedoes.

_BAM!_ The explosion thundered through the entire boat and made it shake. Another one followed and someone was yelling: "Two hits!"

Georg looked over at the dark shade. It had slowed down – two hits certainly had done a lot of damage to the frigate. But now it turned around, heading towards the Liberty like a raging bull.

Normally Georg would have disappeared now – diving and sneaking away in the depths. Only there wasn't much depth here – he had only seventy feet of water under his keel, absolutely not enough to get away when water bombs were coming down. However, he still had two torpedoes in the rear bays. Turning his boat around, Georg commanded, "Bay five and six ready!"

"Bay six ready."

"Bay five ready."

"Fire!" Georg commanded. "Lieutenant, get us up, both engines full speed. Helm, course is thirty grade west – let's lead the Germans away from here."

"…. fourteen – thirteen – twelve – eleven – ten – nine," now the first officer was counting, "eight – seven – six – five – four – three – two – one – zero."

Once again everyone seemed to hold his breath. Georg watched through his periscope how the frigate – slower than before – moved towards his boat. Suddenly there was the deafening sound of another explosion and a wave hit the boat.

"One hit, one failed!" Morgan Grammings stated dryly.

"Bay one loaded again," another voice came through the loud speaker.

Georg still watched the German frigate. It had stopped and now it listed to the left, sinking slowly deeper.

"Captain!" the Lieutenant at the sonar called out, "I think you've …" He stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes growing big and scared. "Water bomb!"

Hell suddenly broke lose. There was a blinding light around the boat and then it felt as if a huge fist had struck, shaken, and dropped it. The metal of the hull squealed loudly, somewhere glass broke, and a sharp stream of water shot over the bridge while the lights for a moment went out.

"Damage report!" Georg yelled. "And get us up, Lieutenant! Prepare to man the flak!" Georg pulled his periscope down and reached for the hatch of the tower. The boat broke through the surface and he opened the hatch. A flush of water crashed in, but Georg didn't mind it, storming instead up the slippery ladder, followed by three sailors and the first officer.

Just as Georg reached the last steps of the ladder another water bomb exploded close by, shaking the boat again. Georg bumped against the sharp edge of the upper hatch, feeling one of his ribs crack, and became momentarily dizzy, almost losing his footing. Someone caught him and pushed him up, so that he landed on his knees in the command post. He heard the engines of an aircraft and then already the repositioning of the flak and a voice: "Fire – get the bastard down!"

A machine gun started to rattle, its bullets hitting the tower. "Heads down!" Georg yelled. For a tiny moment he saw the German flag on the wings of an aircraft just over the tower and then a darting flame. The aircraft rolled around and exploded, falling downward in pieces.

"Hit!" called one of the men at the flak.

Georg raised his head and looked around. He couldn't imagine that the aircraft had been alone. Normally they came with at least one wing man. Where was he?

There, just over the bay – and he had obviously discovered the Dallas. Georg heard the machine gun again and then the flak of the Dallas fired. The aircraft turned and flew a curve, passing the Liberty and turning again. While one of the men at the flak cursed loudly, Georg saw something long and dark fall from the aircraft's hatch and hit the water.

"Full speed forward!" He didn't think, he only acted, jumping to his feet, taking over the controls and steering the boat towards the point where the torpedo had gone down.

"Oh my God!" Morgan Grammings was screaming. "Captain …"

He didn't have a chance to finish what he wanted to say. The torpedo banged against the Liberty's bow – and then there was a moment of silence before Grammings, almost sobbing, announced: "Ignite failure!"

The flak fired again, but missed. But now the aircraft was once more over the Dallas, its machine gun spewing fire. However, the flak of the Dallas was fighting back and now it had hit its target. The aircraft exploded with a loud bang.

Georg inhaled deeply – he hadn't even noticed he had been holding his breath. With relief he saw the Dallas was coming towards him. Quickly he looked at his watch. "Hold firm, everybody!" he called out and gripped the edge of the tower himself. It was just a second too late – the deafening noise of a big explosion sounded over the sea. The bombs in the shipyard had ignited, debris was flying in the air and large waves rolled towards the Liberty, hitting her and making her almost roll over. There was a brief moment when Georg feared his boat wouldn't come up again, but then slowly, shaking and with a sound like sigh, it rose, still rolling heavily in the troubled sea.

Georg looked once again over at the Dallas. She had been hit even harder, her bow rising up and sticking out of the water like a finger. She fell back and for a few seconds Georg thought she would break. Yet then she started to move forward again and a light on her tower started to blink. With relief Georg read the message: "Mission accomplished. Let's piss off!"

Giving an "understood" in response, Georg commanded: "Lay course towards Malta – full speed. And I want a full damage report ASAP!"

Now he allowed himself to close his eyes for a moment. They had done it – the shipyard wasn't there anymore. Of course, the Germans would try to hunt them now, but the Dallas and the Liberty would reach deep water in only a few minutes, then they would dive and disappear in the darkness.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest – the broken rib. He hadn't really registered it until now and decided he would ignore it until they could dive.

"We're lucky sods, Captain!" Morgan Grammings, next to him, said now. "If the torpedo from the aircraft hadn't been a UXO (1) we'd be joining the little angels in heaven now singing Christmas carols. You know, we were heading directly towards it!"

Georg smiled wearily. "That was my intention, Number One."

"What, sir?" Grammings looked at Georg as if he doubted his sanity. "You were heading towards it on purpose?"

"Yes," Georg answered. "We both knew there wouldn't have been a chance to dodge it. So heading towards it was the only possibility."

"Ahm – I don't understand, sir."

Georg grinned tiredly. "Number One, just think about it: the Germans use the same type of torpedoes for all purposes. In contrast to us they equip their aircrafts with the same torpedoes as their ships. Got it now?"

"Actually – no, sir!" Grammings looked even more confused.

"You're really groggy, aren't you, Commander? Every ship torpedo has a security device. In the first twenty-five seconds after its launch it won't ignite – because during that time its searching head could mistake the ship from which it was launched for a target. So when the torpedo hits something during this initial period, the ignition device is destroyed – and that's what happened to the one that was after us."

"Ah – you knew we'd hit the torpedo before it could explode?" the commander exclaimed.

"I didn't know, Number One. I hoped." Georg took up the microphone again. "When will I get my damage report?"

* * *

"Do – re – mi – fa – so – la – ti – do!" Liesl sang, breathed deeply and tried a few of the higher notes again before she started with the first line of her aria: "Jauchzet, jauchzet …" There was already a long and difficult coloratura on the second word, but Liesl didn't have any trouble with it. As nervous as she was, her voice wasn't only there, but singing felt easy and wonderful. Even the rather low notes in the second line of the aria, in former times not always something Liesl was good at, came out strong and clear.

Turning around, Liesl looked once again in the mirror on the wall. It was around the twentieth time she had done so since changing into her evening gown, but she still felt slightly overwhelmed by her image. Was that really her or a princess out of a fairy tale? Was that her head with the shiny, brown hair pulled up in a bun with locks falling from it, emphasizing her long neck and its fair skin? Was it really her waist, looking so fragile and small in tight-fitting dark blue velvet? And her breasts – the dress was very modest and only showed their swell, but she hadn't even known she could look so lovely. And the sleeves of the dress – they'd been her delight from the first fitting: tight around her upper arms, they opened at the elbows and fell down over her hands, mimicking the rest of the dress in their form: tight in the bodice and ending in a very wide skirt. And like the skirt, the under part of the sleeves was embroidered with tiny, golden stars.

It really was a dress out of a girl's dream – and Liesl didn't even mind that it seemed to weigh a ton. She felt pretty and that gave her confidence; nevertheless, she couldn't help sighing once. This evening, her first big appearance – it could have been perfect if only it weren't missing the most important people in her life: Finlay wasn't there and her family hadn't been able to attend either. Maria had so wanted to, but just two days earlier, Gretl had caught the measles at school and had promptly infected Marta, Johannes and Stephan. Marta and Johannes didn't deal too badly with it, but Stephan had developed a high fever and needed to be looked after closely. Hence Maria was at home.

"In dulce jubilo …" Liesl heard the voice from the neighbouring room and smiled. Dame Solveig was obviously dressed too and starting to warm up her voice. Even now, although she was only singing sotto voce, it was a pleasure to listen to her.

Liesl, doing some more exercises, remembered how she had met her illustrious colleague ten days before. She had been nervous and a bit afraid, wondering if the famous opera singer would behave like a real diva and how she, Liesl, could deal with that. But then, curtseying in front of Dame Solveig Coulder and being introduced by Lord Fenswick, she had looked up into a pair of beautiful, warmly smiling brown eyes and had immediately felt better. She had know then that she was meeting a kindred spirit: a woman full of a deep love of music, warm, and witty. Of course, Dame Solveig knew who she was and expected to be treated accordingly. She radiated self-confidence and her aplomb made her the centre of every circle she moved in. However, she wasn't arrogant. By working and talking with her, Liesl had learned with delight that Dame Solveig could laugh about herself, was really devoted to her work, and didn't behave like a huge star. She was open to other opinions – even asked for them – and was more than willing to share her experience and knowledge with Liesl.

In a way, Liesl thought she would even have to thank Dame Solveig for the fact that her voice felt so strong lately. The older woman had given her a few very good tips, and in the rehearsals with her Liesl had received proof that her voice could keep pace with Dame Solveig's.

She wouldn't have thought it possible before, but during the ten days in Lord Fenswick's house she had hardly cried or worried at all. She simply hadn't had enough time for it because her days had been so filled with singing, talking, accompanying Dame Solveig to shopping trips, strolls through the park and meeting people.

And with Dame Solveig at her side, even the few times Liesl had met with her host hadn't been as bad as she had feared. In Dame Solveig's company Christopher Fenswick was all charm and smiles, and the flirtatious banter between the singer and him was sometimes even fun to listen to.

Nevertheless Liesl was rather glad that Lord Fenswick rather rarely showed himself at home. Although he had never expressed it and always treated her with the utmost politeness, Liesl was sure that he didn't approve of what she had done. Of course, he worked to help her – or better said, his brother – out, and in this matter Liesl had come to trust him very much, but the way he sometimes looked at her, when he thought she wasn't watching, his mouth thin and his eyes cold, made pretty clear that he strongly disapproved of her. In a way it made Liesl furious. She was convinced that Lord Fenswick, well-educated and smart as he was, didn't really know what the word "love" meant. Even "affection" seemed to be something he didn't deal with. Although he knew half of Washington – the important half of course! – and was out almost every night at social events, he obviously didn't have any close, personal friends.

However, Liesl had needed to correct her first impression: that his lordship was a misogynist. Lord Fenswick probably disliked reckless young women who got themselves in trouble with his brother, but as far as beautiful, sophisticated opera singers were concerned, he didn't only show a lot of highly polished charm, but – Liesl blushed just thinking about it – even passion.

She had learned that four nights before. She had taken the evening to visit Maria while Dame Solveig and Lord Fenswick had been out to dinner. Coming back to an empty house around ten o'clock, Liesl had immediately gone to bed – being with her family and pretending to be well and chipper always tired and depressed her. She had fallen asleep, but only for two hours before her bladder had awoken her and she had had to go out to the bathroom. It was a few steps away from her room in a side corridor off the hall.

Coming out of it afterwards, Liesl had heard voices on the staircase. Dame Solveig and Lord Fenswick were back – and Liesl hadn't wanted to meet them while wearing her rather shabby, old dressing gown, so she had hidden herself in the shadows, hoping they would pass along and disappear into their rooms quickly.

Only they hadn't. She had heard Christopher Fenswick's deep laughter and then his voice, for once a bit hoarse: "Solveig, you know: I've become a lazy, grumpy, old tomcat who loves nothing better than snoring in front of the fireplace."

"Tomcat, you?" Dame Solveig had chuckled and lowered her voice. "I'd say rather a leopard – but an amiable one with really nice spots, which you'll hopefully never lose."

Silence had followed – so long a silence that Liesl finally had looked around the corner, but only for a moment before yanking her head back at once. The master of the house and his guest of honour were kissing just in front of her room. And it certainly wasn't a kiss out of the "good night, dear friend, sleep well" department! Not with Dame Solveig rummaging through his hair while she pressed him against the wall and he had his hands on her backside.

A deep chuckle from him then: "My old nanny thought me once that a gentleman never assaults a lady who is a guest in his house!" Dame Solveig had obviously tried to pull him into her room.

"Liar! You only don't want to come into my room because you fear it's too warm for you," Dame Solveig responded. "But yours is too cold for me! I have to think of my voice!"

"Darling, trust me: I'll keep you and your voice warm!"

"And what will your butler say when he finds me in your bed tomorrow?" Dame Solveig's voice had sounded a bit more distant to Liesl – she obviously was following Lord Fenswick down the hall to his bedroom.

"As a proper English butler he's quite well trained to go temporarily blind!" Lord Fenswick answered.

"Ah – he needs to go blind often?" Dame Solveig asked.

"But of course!"

"Ah?" Dame Solveig seemed to have stopped walking.

Lord Fenswick was laughing. "I mostly share my bed with tons of papers, some of them very hush-hush. So my butler needs to go blind when serving my early morning tea."

There was the sound of a closing door and then silence again.

Liesl had counted to fifty and then run over to her bedroom, sitting down on her bedside. For a moment she had felt like a silly child. Why hadn't she noticed before that the two were a couple? How could she have overlooked the way they smiled at each other and how her eyes often followed him? They were obviously quite familiar with each other and from what Liesl had just heard it was clear that they hadn't begun their whatever-one-was-to-call-it just that night.

Thinking about it had made Liesl almost furious. What kind of a hypocrite was this man? He looked at her as if she were a loose woman because she had slept with his brother, the man she deeply and truly loved. Yet at the same time the oh-so-noble lord was conducting an affair himself – and neither he nor Dame Solveig gave the impression of being madly in love with each other! It looked, rather, as if they were just having a bit of fun together.

On the other hand, Dame Solveig was a widow and Lord Fenswick a bachelor. They were free, weren't they?

Anyway, this affair of theirs – Liesl didn't know what to think about. Until a few weeks ago she had considered sex to be something a decent woman only ever did with her lawfully wedded husband. She had been taught so by the nuns at school and by her parents – or had she? Rummaging in her memory she had tried to remember what exactly her parents had said about the subject. Her birth mother had once explained to her what was going on in a woman's body every month and that the bleeding meant she was able to have a child.

"And one day, my sweetheart, you'll find a man to fall in love with and have wonderful babies with him." That was all Agathe von Trapp had said on the subject.

The rest Liesl had learned from a book her father – strategically clever as always – had deposited on a shelf of his library that only the older children could reach. Beyond that, Liesl could only remember one piece of advice from him: "In her ability to love and to give a woman has a lot of capital. She shouldn't spend it in small coins."

Actually here never had been anything like "Only sleep with a man you're married to!" or "You must enter into your marriage a virgin!" Of course, Maria probably thought so. She was the strict Catholic in the family while Georg, despite believing in God, was not so tightly connected to the Church and was rather broadminded about people's private lives. Besides he was an experienced man. He had been around the block a few times and – well, Brigitta had never been the only one in the family to notice certain things. Liesl had once, just a day after her father had come back from Vienna, discovered a hickey on his neck. She would probably never know who had put it there, but of one thing she was certain: he wouldn't be shocked about Lord Fenswick's affair with Dame Solveig and would file it under the category of "Things like that happen, there's no need to make a fuss about them." On the other hand, she was also sure that he wouldn't consider her sleeping with a married man among the things one didn't need to make a fuss about.

There was a knock on her door. Liesl called "Come in, please" and smiled at Dame Solveig who entered, wearing a gorgeous gown in burgundy silk. "You look wonderful, Dame Solveig!" she said.

"Thank you! But I think the belle of the ball is you, dear Elisabeth. All the men will swoon over you!"

"Oh, I don't think so." Liesl felt herself blushing.

"Your voice is in excellent shape, you look like a dream – what more could anyone want?" Dame Solveig came closer and laid a hand on Liesl's shoulder: "You'll do wonderfully, I know it!"

Once again Liesl heard a knock at the door. This time it was Lord Fenswick, looking very imposing in tails with the red, silken band of an order over his immaculate white shirt. He bowed, kissed Dame Solveig's hand and smiled at Liesl. "You ladies look ravishing! Are you ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Dame Solveig replied cheerfully.

"Then let's go down – the Ambassador is already waiting!" He opened the door, let Dame Solveig and Liesl step through, and followed them.

* * *

Breathing deeply, Liesl looked out at the Embassy lawn, festively decorated with golden shining lampions in the shape of stars. She was glad that someone had opened one of the big French windows in the salon. The big ballroom next to it had grown rather warm in the light of hundreds of candles and crowded with people. Liesl had fled from there – after the concert and the many compliments she had gotten she felt a bit dizzy and in urgent need of fresh air and a moment to herself.

Even she, always critical towards herself, couldn't deny that the evening had been a great success. Uncle Max, beaming in pride and joy, was probably already considering how he could use it to get her more engagements.

Liesl hated that she would be letting him down. He had worked so hard for her and he deserved to present her as the "rising star," as the Ambassador had said. However, it couldn't be helped. In a few weeks her pregnancy would show and then she wouldn't sing in concerts anymore, but would hopefully build up a home for her husband, her child, and herself.

"Elisabeth?" Lord Fenswick had joined her. "Are you sure it's a good idea to stand here at an open window? It's rather cold."

There was something about him tonight that confused Liesl. She had thought she already knew him at least a little, but over the few last hours he had acted strangely. It had already started before the concert when he introduced Dame Solveig and her to the Ambassador. For a brief moment he had lain his hand on her arm – and there she had felt that his fingers were trembling slightly. Had he been nervous about her? But he had smiled down at her and though the smile hadn't reached his eyes, there hadn't been the usual aloofness in them, but almost something like warmth towards her.

After the concert he had led her up to the changing room. In front of the door Liesl had thanked him. "That was very kind of you, Lord Fenswick."

He had totally surprised her with another smile and a bow of the head. "My name is Christopher."

Liesl had felt rather confused – why did he suddenly want her to call him by his Christian name? Yet well-bred as she was, she had nodded and said, "Thank you, Christopher."

"Thank you, Elisabeth – listening to you was a pleasure!"

Half an hour later he had accompanied her down to the ballroom – and since then he had hardly left her side. Of course, Dame Solveig didn't need him – the Ambassador, a sturdy widower, hardly let her out of his sight. Liesl had been grateful that she had had his minister at her side. On her own she would have felt rather intimidated by all the people who wanted to talk to her. It had been good that Lord Fenswick – Christopher – had been there, introducing her, answering questions for her – what should she have replied to someone asking when her father would come to Washington? – and prompting her when she had forgotten a name. It was obvious that he wasn't only used to such occasions, but was actually an experienced diplomat. And it was also obvious that he wanted her to make a good impression. Of course, she was to become his sister-in-law soon, but nevertheless Liesl wouldn't have expected him to be so attentive towards her. It almost felt as if he didn't only care about the family's reputation, but about her as a human being too.

"Are you tired, Elisabeth?" he asked now, looking down at her. "You're a bit pale."

"I'm fine!" Liesl assured him. "I really only needed a bit of fresh air."

"And what about something to eat? You only had a very light supper before the concert."

"Lord Fen…" Liesl corrected herself as she saw how he raised an eyebrow. "Christopher, I'm really fine. I don't need anything at the moment."

"Then there's nothing I can do for you. But perhaps you could do something for me." He bowed. "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?" He had already pulled his white gloves on and offered her his arm.

Liesl put her hand on it and smiled up at him. "I'd be delighted!" she replied – and she really was. Despite her worries, she was still a 21-year-old girl in a beautiful gown at a ball – and she had longed to dance since she had come down and heard the orchestra, but with the imposing minister of the embassy at her side the whole time, none of the young men around had dared approach her.

Christopher Fenswick led her back to the ballroom where the orchestra had just started a waltz. Bowing once again, he took her hand, laid his arm around her waist and pulled her towards him.

Liesl blushed – she couldn't help remembering how he had embraced Dame Solveig only a few nights before. The memory made for an odd awareness of his body next to hers. And there was his smell, sandalwood, rosemary and something fresh and very manly. Liesl had always liked nice-smelling men – as a child she used to press her nose against her father's neck because he smelled so nicely of lavender soap and cologne. Now she needed to fight against the temptation to lean her head against Christopher Fenswick's shoulder to inhale his fragrance.

Besides it was nice to be held by him. His hand on her waist was firm and warm and he guided her steps graciously, keeping her close enough to be in harmony with him but not so close she would have felt embarrassed by it. And there was his back moving beneath her hand –how had this man who mostly sat at a desk acquired such strong muscles?

Suddenly there was a flash that almost blinded her, and Christopher Fenswick cursed between gritted teeth. "These photographers are a pest!"

"You can't blame them for wanting a picture of you and the Baroness. You make a lovely couple!" The Ambassador swung Dame Solveig around and smiled at Liesl. "Prepare yourself to be all over the papers in the next few days. The beautiful Baroness, daughter of a Naval hero and able to make my stern minister smile!"

"And knowing the society reporters, they'll immediately start to speculate about whether the sweet Baroness is a candidate to become Lady Fenswick!" Dame Solveig smiled too, but there was an edge to her voice that made Liesl cringe inwardly.

She didn't care about the papers. People would soon learn that she wasn't to become Lord Fenswick's wife, but his sister-in-law. However, she wished she could tell Dame Solveig already. Her reaction showed that she probably cared more about Christopher Fenswick than she would want to admit to him. Liesl found herself sympathizing with her – she remembered only too well how it felt to be in love with someone who didn't return the sentiment. And Christopher Fenswick obviously didn't care too much about Dame Solveig – or why else would he allow his superior to flirt with her and to occupy her all night?

Another flash, this time even closer and now a reporter asked: "Miss von Trapp, how long have you known Lord Fenswick?"

It was Christopher who answered for her, sounding almost amused: "Long enough for me to know that Baroness von Trapp doesn't want to answer such questions!"

"Lord Fenswick, will there be wedding bells ringing soon?"

Now Christopher really seemed amused. "But of course! And you'll be the first one to get an invitation!" He swung Liesl around once more, bent down and whispered in her ear: "I'm sorry about that. Unfortunately the American press is rather fascinated with the European nobility and its mating habits. The Ambassador and I are already used to being their favourite objects of study."

Him whispering to Liesl promptly instigated another flash, and she became more and more uncomfortable. She was sure Finlay wouldn't be happy about reading articles that speculated about a relationship between her and his brother.

"I'm rather tired. Do you think I could go home now?" Liesl quietly asked her partner.

"Yes, of course." Christopher immediately waltzed her towards the door.

"What about Dame Solveig?" Liesl asked.

"Don't worry about her. I'm sure she's in the best hands with the Ambassador," Christopher answered, pulling her hand into the crook of his arm and leading her into the entrance hall. Waving to one of the servants he ordered, "Please, get me my car and our coats."

"Can you simply leave like this?" Liesl wondered. "I mean, you're an important man at the Embassy, aren't you?"

"One of the advantages of my job: I don't have to stay and wash dishes after a party." Christopher Fenswick took Liesl's cloak, which a footman had brought, and laid it around her shoulders.

* * *

"Elisabeth, I know you're tired, but there's something we need to talk about." Christopher Fenswick looked down at Liesl after he had helped her out of her cloak. "Would you come to my study with me?"

Liesl swallowed. Since they had left the Embassy, he had become very quiet and she had once again noticed that his hands were shaking. She suddenly felt very cold, though this time a big fire was roaring in the hall. And there was one in his study too, but it didn't help against the chill Liesl felt as she sat down on the sofa. There was something wrong about the way Christopher Fenswick tugged at his cuffs before he sank down onto the chair opposite her, his shoulders sagging and his fingers massaging his forehead as if he suffered from a headache.

"Christopher?" It still felt strange to call him by his Christian name. "Are you well?"

"No, I'm not." The answer was brusque and he balled his fists. "I absolutely am not. I haven't been well all evening because I was dreading this moment." He looked up at her, his blue eyes glimmering strangely. "You're probably going to hate me even more for that – and I can't blame you."

"What's the matter, Lo … Christopher," Liesl corrected herself. "What happened?" She felt her heart beating so hard it almost hurt.

Christopher Fenswick sighed and looked into the fire. "A few minutes after we arrived at the Embassy, my secretary brought me a telegram. I'm terribly sorry, Elisabeth." Now he looked up again, his eyes almost black in the light of the fire. "Finlay is dead. He was killed by a German plane firing at his U-boat."

To be continued

(1) UXO: Unexploded ordnance device


	17. Chapter 17

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: My dear beta Trapper has once again outdone herself in editing this chapter in only one day. Thanks, Trapper! And thanks to all of my faithful readers!

_**Chapter **__**17: Coming home**_

December 1942 – January 1943

"Admiral? Would you please fasten your seat belt? We're going to land in Annapolis in a few minutes."

The voice of the yeoman woke Georg out of the light slumber that had overcome him only an hour before. Squinting into the light of the cabin, he nodded. "Thank you, Yeoman." He shifted in his seat and fastened the belt, looking almost irritatedly at the broad golden band on the sleeve of his blue uniform. The jacket was a bit too wide – Maria had obviously provided one of his old jackets for the measurements, hoping he would gain weight again. Georg didn't doubt he would – since they had come to the United States, Maria's abilities as a cook had very much improved. With him spending a lot of time at a desk and having his meals mostly at home in the future, he certainly would get the weight back he had lost during his time on the island. In truth, he was even afraid he would develop a belly – the thought alone of Maria's delicious Schnitzels with potato salad (1), her great Tafelspitz (2) and her Sachertorte (3) was enough to make his mouth water.

Heavens, it was good to be on the way home, knowing that he wouldn't have to go away again after only a few days. Of course, he would miss his submarine and its crew, but he was sure that having his wife and children around would make up for that.

Besides, the promotion ceremony had been a nice surprise. Naturally, he had known that he was to become a Rear Admiral lower half, but he hadn't expected to get his star so quickly. Obviously he had once more underestimated Charles Forrester's liking of playing _deus ex machina_.

Yesterday, as the USS Liberty had finally reached port in Cyprus, the Admiral had once again been waiting at the pier, beaming and looking proud. He had even stepped onto the hull, where the entire crew had stood at attention, thanking and congratulating every single member of it. As he had come to Georg, he had looked almost as if he would have liked to hug him. Instead he had shaken his hand, grumbling good-naturedly: "It wasn't necessary to break your rib again, Captain!" With his chin pointing to the ambulance which was waiting on the pier he had added: "It's the hospital for you again. But I'll come see you in the evening. We have a lot to talk about."

Luckily Georg had managed to convince the doctors to release him after bandaging his chest – he had indeed broken a rib, but this time on the left side – and checking his knee. So he had been able to have his talk with his superior by the Admiral's fireplace with a nice glass of whiskey in his hand.

Nevertheless his feelings about the conversation had been very mixed. Of course he was happy that their mission was a success – and even a bigger one than they had hoped for.

"The shipyard," the Admiral had informed him, "is entirely destroyed – and with it two submarines and an Italian torpedo boat. The Germans will need at least seven or eight months to build the thing up again. But there's something more – something we like a lot: The German frigate you sunk," he grinned broadly, "has gone down very nicely. You couldn't have found a better place for the wreck. It lies exactly in the middle of the fairway to Trogir – and as you know: the passage is a small one. The wreck completely blocks it. The Germans can't get a ship through to Trogir until they manage to blast the thing." The Admiral had emptied his glass. "They'll need a while to do so with the weather as lousy as it is these days. And until then their airplanes in Trogir are grounded too – they always get their fuel from a tanker, and no tanker can go there at the moment. The wreck is such a nice Christmas gift for us! We even have a chance to get the other German frigate now – as soon as the weather gets a little better, we'll hunt it with everything we have."

That had been the good news. The bad had immediately followed. In the Admiral's words: "Considered what we've gained, the prize we paid could have been higher. We have only four men injured – including you – and two lost."

"Who did we lose?" Georg had asked.

"A petty officer and the second officer of the Dallas," the Admiral had replied. "They were at the MG when the German plane attacked the Dallas. They didn't stand a chance."

"The second on the Dallas – that was Lieutenant Carson, wasn't it?" Georg had said slowly, feeling a wave of sadness.

"You knew him?" the Admiral had asked.

"Hmm," Georg had nodded. "He was a nice young man and a very gifted musician. Besides he was with my family during the time they thought I was dead, and I'm afraid my oldest daughter has developed a little crush on him."

"How so? The man was married. We've just sent someone from the New York base to inform the poor wife."

"He was married?" Georg's brow had knit. "He never mentioned a wife." He had thought of Maria's last letter in which she had mentioned that she was worried about Liesl. She had become so quiet and sad, Maria had written.

Was Liesl so sad because she knew about Carson's wife? Or hadn't he told her? In any case Georg was rather upset. How had Carson, as a married man, dared to flirt with his daughter? How had he dared to come close to her?

While the airplane was sinking through the clouds, Georg sighed. He had never dared to hope that all of his children would get a "happily ever after" with their first loves, so he had been prepared to comfort them when they became lovesick. Yet why had it now hit Liesl for the second time? Her first experience with love had been horrible enough and had depressed her so much that for months he had feared he would never get his bold, cheerful firstborn back. Liesl, the girl who, even in his worst days, had never feared to stand up to him; Liesl who under his nose had dared to sneak out to meet her boyfriend in the garden; Liesl who had always been the leader of her siblings when it came to playing tricks on the governesses – during their first months in America she had been so subdued and quiet he almost hadn't recognized her anymore.

He remembered the day when he had been in the girls' room in their flat over the cheese shop, scolding them for their mess and talking about the importance of neatness. Suddenly he had heard a rather ironic, "Oh really, Father?" from Liesl. And as he had scowled at her, Liesl had braced her shoulders and said, "Of course you're right, father. Your desk proves it." Her eyes had danced with mischief and he had known that she had gotten him right between the eyes. It wasn't without reason that Maria sometimes asked him why she hadn't heard the bomb that had obviously exploded on his desk.

He wouldn't admit it to her, but he had always admired Liesl for not letting him off easily. She was his daughter – and she was very like him in being much more vulnerable than her pride allowed her to show and in being serious about love. He had never managed to take it easy with women and he was sure that his daughter wouldn't play around either. She wanted to love and to be loved as much as he did.

On the other hand, Liesl was young, beautiful and exceptionally gifted. She had a great career waiting in her future and she was very devoted to her singing. It had helped her to overcome her disappointment with Rolf and it certainly would help her overcome her infatuation with Lieutenant Carson. Maria and he would help her. He was on his way home, and he would stay and find time to be with his daughter.

Naturally, in the coming days he would be very busy. The Admiral certainly had meant well when he had pushed through Georg's promotion so quickly, and Georg had enjoyed the surprise party with his crew when the Admiral had presented him with his new uniform with the star. There was only one drawback to that: the new Rear Admiral lower half Georg von Trapp was now supposed to present himself as quickly as possible to the Chief of Naval Operations to officially take over his new command. As challenging and interesting as this would be – Georg wouldn't have minded a few days off before starting in his new office in Washington. He would have liked to help Maria with moving and settling down in the house she had rented and he certainly would have enjoyed having some time to get himself acquainted with his youngest son. And there was still the problem with Stephan's uncle! In her last letter Maria had reported that the JAG officer had found the man and spoken to him. He obviously wasn't interested in taking his nephew, but at the same time he had protested about "some strangers" getting guardianship of Stephan. His late brother wouldn't have wanted it, so he had said. Georg smelled trouble here and was determined to sort it out. He wanted to fly to Denver where the man lived to tell him that he wasn't a stranger, but someone who cared deeply about Stephan and was able to give him a true home.

The airplane had landed, and walking down the stairs, Georg looked for Maria. He had sent her a telegram before boarding the plane, hoping that she would be able to pick him up at the airbase.

And there she was, at the edge of the airfield, her youngest in her arms, just pointing out to the plane. For a second Georg fought against the temptation to run towards her, but that wouldn't do for an admiral. Besides his knee, which hadn't liked being bent throughout the long flight, was aching and the bandage around his chest was itching. Hence it wasn't too hard to preserve the dignity of his rank by approaching his wife properly.

Only there was suddenly a familiar, youthful, and very exuberant voice calling out, "Attention!" The effect of it was rather spoiled by the immediate giggles that followed the command. Nevertheless it worked. Next to Maria – and Georg almost blushed because he had been so concentrated on her that he hadn't even noticed his children had come with her – a row formed. His children stood like the pipes of an organ, but not in the rank of their age anymore, but with Kurt – the tallest one – as the first, followed by Louisa, Stephan, Brigitta, Marta, Gretl and Johannes. Only Barbara hadn't sorted herself into the row but stood in front of Louisa, who held her hand. Yet all of the children, even Barbara, saluted him, giggling and laughing about it.

Georg grinned happily at them, lifted his hand to his cover to greet them back and then opened his arms. As always it was Brigitta who hugged him first, but Johannes was already tugging at his trousers and reached out to be lifted up while Marta, braced on his shoulder, balanced on her tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek. Kissing foreheads and ruffling the boys' hair, Georg smiled at Maria whose eyes were beaming.

The children were all talking and laughing and he needed to lift his free hand and to raise his voice: "You can sing together, but talking together doesn't work – at least not when you want me to understand something. Besides I'd like to say 'hello' to your mother now."

Immediately Louisa and Kurt proved how grown up they had become. While Kurt said, "Okay – come over to me, Jo!" and lifted the three year old Johannes out of Georg's arm, Louisa took little Philipp from Maria.

For a moment Georg was almost reluctant about taking Maria in his arms. He knew only too well what effect it would have on him to feel her body close and how hard it would be not to kiss her with all the passion and longing that drove him towards her. He loved his children dearly, but at this moment he wouldn't have minded all of them being on a long holiday in Timbuktu or somewhere else. To have Maria all to himself, driving home with her, running up the stairs with her and falling into bed, making love to her until she begged for mercy …

"Admiral!" Her hand touched his cheek and her eyes connected to his. "You're certainly the most handsome man in the Navy!" she whispered.

"And you're the most beautiful woman I ever saw!" he responded quietly, caught her hand and pulled it to his lips. Turning it around, he kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Welcome home, Georg!" Now she embraced him and at the moment her body touched his, he felt as if she had awoken something deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to crush her against him and needed all of his self-discipline to keep the kiss chaste and brief. Yet he saw in her eyes that she was consumed by the same hunger and need and for the moment it was enough. In only a few hours he would be alone with her, touching, kissing and pleasing her.

Philipp had started to fuss and wanted his mother. Maria took him out of Louisa's arms and kissed his cheek. "I think you need a nap," she stated.

Georg looked down at his youngest, the son he hardly knew. "And afterwards you're going to have a father-son talk with me," he announced, bending down and kissing the infant's forehead. "There are a lot of things we need to talk about."

Turning around he looked at the other children. "Now, let's go home, shall we?"

Together they walked towards the big car, the children chattering excitedly, Johannes once again sitting on his father's hip and proudly carrying his cover. Yet in all the happiness Georg felt something missing. He wished Friedrich could have been with them, but the Shiloh was once again patrolling around Malta. And there was someone else missing. Turning to Maria, Georg asked quietly, "Where's Liesl?"

"She sang at the Christmas Party at the English Embassy three days ago," Maria told him. "From there she went directly to New York. She wanted to get some things from her flat and needed to go to the library for a few new pieces. But I'm sure she'll come home for New Year's Eve."

"Liesl's probably run off to New York to avoid the reporters!" Kurt chuckled. "You know she was in all the papers after the party at the Embassy."

"How so?" Georg brow creased. He was aware that publicity was part of a singer's career, but that didn't necessarily mean that he would like to see his daughter in the papers.

"She was dancing and flirting with one of the bigwigs in the Embassy," Louisa informed him. "He's very attractive, terribly rich and – as one of the papers wrote – Washington's most eligible bachelor."

"Now everyone and his grandmother are speculating about Liesl and him," Brigitta sounded almost bored. "Yet I think he's too old for her. The man is at least 45!"

"That's really ancient!" Georg commented dryly and looked at Maria.

"We're talking about Lord Fenswick, the minister of the Embassy who happens to be the older brother of a certain Lieutenant Carson-Fenswick," Maria clarified.

Georg sighed inwardly. He would have to tell Maria about the Lieutenant and then, on New Year's Eve, they would have to tell Liesl.

* * *

Liesl closed her eyes, breathed deeply and stepped up the stairs which led to the porch that circled her family's home. Just at the moment she reached out to ring the doorbell, the door was opened from the inside. Maria stood at the threshold, beaming and reaching out to hug her oldest daughter. "Liesl! I'm so glad to see you! We feared you wouldn't be able to make it!" She turned her head and called over her shoulder, "Georg, Liesl's here!"

Liesl felt an ugly knot in her stomach as she saw her father limping in the hall. It was rather late – they had gotten stuck in the snow – and he had already changed, wearing a bottle-green velvet jacket, a white shirt, a green tie and grey trousers. The hair at his temples had become entirely grey and there was a white strand on his head too which made him look even more distinguished and imposing.

Liesl would have liked nothing better than to throw herself into his arms and cry on his shoulder. Yet she didn't dare to. She knew only too well that he wouldn't like what she had to tell him – and after learning the entire, ghastly truth he would probably even feel disgusted by her.

All her life she had loved and adored him and wished him to be proud of her. To think now how disappointed he would be about her made her feel as if her heart would break – and she wondered how this was possible. Hadn't her heart already been broken three days earlier when Lord Fenswick – Christopher, as she corrected herself, still not used to his Christian name – had told her that Finlay was dead?

She had hated him at that moment. Why hadn't he told her earlier? Why had he let her sing and dance when he had known all the time that the man she loved, the father of her unborn child, would never come back to her?

She had accused him of being cruel and cold-hearted. She had screamed at him and when he hadn't answered, but had only stood at the fireplace, she had even tried to slap him. He had taken her wrist then – gently, but firmly – and had looked down at her. "I was thinking of your future. It would have been a scandal if you would have broken down at the Embassy. As hard as it may sound: the ugly fact that my brother was a married man wasn't changed by his death."

"I don't care about the scandal!" Liesl had cried. "It doesn't matter anymore – Finlay is dead."

"It does matter. It matters to you, to your child, to your father, to me. And therefore I'm determined to avoid it," Christopher had answered. "Listen, Elisabeth, I've thought about that all evening. I have a plan …"

Now he had entered the house behind her and had just bent down to kiss Maria's hand. "Baroness von Trapp, forgive me for trespassing in your house like this. My name is Christopher Fenswick."

Liesl kicked herself out of her numbness. "Mother, Father, I invited Lord Fenswick here – there's something we need to tell you."

Georg's left eyebrow rose and there was anger in his eyes. He certainly didn't like this kind of surprise. However, his manners forbade him to show it. Reaching out he took Christopher's hand. "Good evening, Lord Fenswick. Do come in!"

"Good evening, Admiral. I'm sorry to disturb you like this." Christopher shook the hand that had been offered.

Georg nodded and pulled Maria's hand through the crook of his arm. "I believe we'd best go into my study."

Liesl felt like fainting and was glad that Christopher held her elbow, steering her toward the study after her parents. Bending down he whispered in her ear: "Don't forget: They love you!"

"Liesl, Lord Fenswick, may I offer you a drink?" There was once again irony in Georg's voice as he proceeded: "Liesl, you're old enough now for alcohol, aren't you?"

"Thank you, father – I'd rather have a soda." Liesl wrapped her arms around herself. Although there was a nice fire burning, she felt chilled to the bones.

"Well, then – Lord Fenswick? Whiskey, brandy, port, sherry?"

"Whiskey would be nice." Christopher was still standing behind Liesl's chair.

Georg poured two glasses of whiskey, one with port for Maria and a glass with soda for Liesl. Giving them out he sat down on the sofa next to Maria, sipping his whiskey.

"Thank you, sir." Christopher sipped at his glass too. For a moment there was a rather tense silence in the room. Then Christopher cleared his throat and laid his hand on Liesl's shoulder. "As Elisabeth has already announced, there's something we need to tell you. Baroness, Admiral, I'm to inform you that your lovely daughter agreed to become my wife. Yesterday we were married."

"What?" Georg almost let slip his glass while Maria stared at Liesl as if she had never seen her before.

Liesl felt her new husband inhale deeply. "Baroness, Admiral, I'm aware that this must come as completely unexpected to you – probably as unexpected as falling in love," he came around the chair, sat down on its wing and laid his arm around Liesl's shoulder, "came to us. I'm also aware that I should have asked your permission to marry your daughter before …"

"Such an old-fashioned custom," Georg interrupted him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Eloping is much more romantic. I nevertheless must admit that my wife and I actually would have appreciated to be informed before the wedding." His tone had become as icy as his eyes.

"Father …" Liesl actually didn't know what to say, but she couldn't bear the way he was looking at her.

"Yes, Elisabeth?"

She couldn't remember that he had ever before used her full name. She had always been his "Liesl" – and now she felt as if he had kicked her.

"Admiral, I understand you're angry. But please don't blame your daughter. The elopement was my idea." Christopher was inhaling deeply once again and, bracing his shoulders, he proceeded: "I'm not proud of myself, but I got driven away by my feelings – and therefore I thought marrying your daughter as quickly as possible …"

"I understand, Lord Fenswick!" Georg's voice came down on Christopher like a whip. "There's no need to elaborate!"

Had Liesl thought before that she couldn't feel more ashamed? She had been wrong. The deepest point she had only reached now.

"Admiral von Trapp, despite what you think of me, I promise I'll try to make your daughter happy. Elisabeth means a lot to me and I adore and respect her …"

"You have a rather odd way of showing respect to a woman, Lord Fenswick!" Georg's eyes were burning with rage.

Liesl ducked. She had never before been afraid of her father, not even when he had been yelling at her. But now she felt like running away, hiding herself somewhere and crying.

"Forgive me, Admiral," Christopher was speaking again, now sounding rather cold too, "but I think I should remind you that I made your daughter Lady Fenswick. The way I did it may not find meet your approval, but the fact that Elisabeth is my wife should at least show you that I'm neither lacking in respect of her nor of you."

Georg didn't answer, but stood up and filled his glass again. But suddenly Maria spoke, her voice firm and clear as a bell. "You know, Georg, I would have liked to elope with you too. I was so much in love, I found it terribly hard to wait for weeks until I could finally belong to you entirely."

For a few seconds Liesl feared her father would lash out at Maria. He looked at her, his eyes still angry. Then he shook his head, breathed deeply and walked over to where she sat. "Sometimes I think that if one of our children killed someone," he said slowly, his voice becoming warmer with every word and now already sounding slightly amused, "you'd help him hide the body, telling me afterwards that this offspring of ours certainly had good reason to do away with that person."

Maria smiled up at him and reached for his hand. "I don't think I'd approve of killing someone, but in general you're right, Georg. I trust our children and I'll always try to stand by their side when they're in difficulty. And," she looked at Liesl and then once more up at her husband, "I know that you will too – after some grumbling and showing them the stern captain routine, of course." She let Georg's hand go, stood up and walked over to the chair where Liesl was sitting. "Liesl, Lord Fenswick, I have to admit you had me shocked too – perhaps because I've always dreamed about the wonderful wedding we'd give our oldest. However, you decided otherwise. You're adults, it's your right to do so. For me it remains to wish you all the happiness in the world."

That was the moment Liesl lost it. She simply couldn't bear it anymore. The last several days she had felt numb and there had been only one thing she still cared about: the child. Finlay was dead, but the baby that was growing in her belly lived and it deserved a good life. That was why she had agreed to Christopher's plan, as crazy as it had first sounded to her. But there was method in his madness: he – for reasons he hadn't explained to her – had never wanted to marry. "Finlay was supposed to become the twelfth Lord Fenswick," he had said. "Finlay is dead, but there will be his child. It's his heir and as such it is to become mine too."

His other point had been: "Just think about the alternative, Elisabeth: If you don't marry me, your child will be born out of wedlock, the product of an illicit affair. Your reputation will be mud, your father's career will be damaged by the scandal – and how, pray tell me, would you provide for the child? My brother was always short on money, so he certainly didn't leave any – just the opposite. Knowing him I'm in fact prepared to pay some debts for him. So what about the child and you? Would you really want your father to pay for the two of you for the next ten years or even longer? You know, even with an Admiral's earnings it can't be easy for him to get ten children a proper education. To provide for a grandchild too – don't you think that's demanding a lot from him?"

"I can work for my child!" Liesl had protested.

"How so? It will take some time – around two, three years – before you can get the child into a preschool." He had smiled bitterly. "I understand that the idea of marrying me isn't to your liking. But it would get your child a proper home. Besides you wouldn't need to waste your education and talent. You could have your career and everything your child needs, including someone to call 'Father'."

"But I don't love you!" Liesl had screamed. "I think I even don't like you much. It's perhaps terribly ungrateful of me because you're trying to help me, but I can't marry you. And I don't understand why you want to marry me. You don't like me either."

"Couldn't we try to discuss the situation a bit more soberly and factually?" Christopher had remained as cold as ever. "We have your child to think of – a child who is a Fenswick and my heir. It needs a home. And perhaps it will make the decision to marry me easier if you know that I don't expect any love or affection from you. Besides, I certainly don't intend to make you fulfil what are generally called 'marital duties' – I'm not in the habit of taking women into my bed who don't want to go there. I'd only want a certain amount of loyalty, discretion and – rather rarely – cooperation when it comes to social duties. Three or four times a year it would be necessary to show yourself at my side. With your upbringing it shouldn't be a problem for you to present yourself as Lady Fenswick. In return I would give your child and you my loyalty, discretion and the protection of my name and state."

"But how could I live with you? We hardly knew each other!" Liesl had said.

"I can assure you that I'm not in the habit of torturing virgins in the cellar. Besides, my houses – this one and the one in England - are rather big, hence you wouldn't need to see me too often. Additionally I suppose your career as a singer will only undergo a slight delay due to the child. As soon as it's old enough you can leave it with a nanny for a few hours or days and you'll start to travel."

"You wouldn't mind your wife being an opera singer?"

"Certainly not. I happen to like opera," he had replied.

"And opera singers! What do you think Dame Solveig would say if you married me?"

For a few seconds he had looked at her in surprise – he obviously hadn't expected her to know about his affair with the singer. Then he had shaken his head. "I don't intend to discuss my relationship with Dame Solveig with you. There's only one point you need to know: there was never anything between us that would make me obliged to her in any way."

They had talked and argued all night and at dawn Liesl had given in and agreed to marry him as soon as possible. It was the only way to avoid a scandal and – well, her child needed a home and it certainly wouldn't hurt it to have a father too.

Nevertheless she had been rather surprised when only a few hours later, around ten o'clock in the morning, the housekeeper had come to her. "His lordship asked me to ask you if you could join him for a journey to Frederick at half past eleven. His lordship will wait for you in the hall, Baroness."

Liesl hadn't had the slightest idea who or what "Frederick" was, but somehow she knew that her future husband had found a way to get them married.

Two hours later she had learned that Frederick was a little town near Washington but in the state of Maryland, where one only needed one's passport, two witnesses, ten dollars and a justice of the peace for a wedding on the spot. Her passport she always carried with her; the witnesses had been Christopher's butler and the wife of the justice; and the ten dollars hadn't been a problem either. In only ten minutes Baroness Liesl von Trapp had become Lady Elisabeth Fenswick of Hollbridge and if the justice of the peace or his wife wondered why the newly wedded couple looked so gloomy, they hadn't at least said so. However, neither he nor his wife had congratulated them. The only one who had done so had been the butler who then had been ordered to inform the rest of the servants and to call an agency to get his new mistress a chamber maid.

Back at her new home, Liesl had learned that Dame Solveig had left and that her new husband intended to do so as well. "I need to go to my office. If you want to, you can have a look at the house. You'll need a study of your own and perhaps another bedroom with a bathroom directly attached. The rooms which are supposed to become the nursery are on the second floor – Yates will show you to them. And if you want to redecorate – feel free to do so, but please leave my study and my bedroom out of it."

He had bowed and disappeared. Around half an hour later the butler had approached her with an envelope on a silver tray. "His lordship asked me to get your ladyship this letter. He wishes to apologize for not handing it to your ladyship personally, but his lordship was in a hurry."

In the envelope Liesl had found 500 dollars and a note: "Dear Elisabeth, I am to see my banker later to set up an account for your allowance. It will take a few days. Until then I hope this will suffice. C."

Liesl had spent the afternoon in bed, crying. Coming down to dinner at eight o'clock she had learned that his lordship had called to ask his butler to tell her ladyship that he wouldn't be able to join her for the meal.

While eating, Liesl had found herself wondering how the servants in the house would refer to the child. Drained, exhausted, and numb as she had been, she had suddenly started to giggle hysterically, imagining how the butler would bring her the baby on a silver tray, announcing, "His infantship has asked me to inform your ladyship that his diaper is full and should be changed before his infantship starts dripping unpleasant-smelling fluids on his lordship's precious Aubusson rugs!"

She had once thought her father's servant in Aigen was rather stuffy, but compared to her husband's butler, Franz had been almost familiar with his employer. If Yates knew that her ladyship's mother had once been a governess and that her maid simply called her "Maria," he would probably faint.

Liesl didn't know if she would ever get used to being "her ladyship" and being married to a man who probably didn't even like her much – and yes, even in her misery she was woman enough to feel hurt by the way he had dismissed the "marital duty" part of the relationship. He had almost looked at as if he felt disgusted by the thought. Of course, she was the woman who had slept with his married brother – that was obviously enough to make her loose in his eyes.

Somehow she would learn to live with all that. She would because she needed to in order to give her child a home and a father, at least in name.

However, sitting now in her father's study, Liesl couldn't keep up the charade any longer. Christopher taking the blame for something he hadn't done, sacrificing his honour for it, and Maria risking her husband's anger by defending her – Liesl couldn't bear it anymore. Hadn't she only two day before promised Christopher loyalty? Didn't she owe Maria, who had always been there for her, at least honesty? And her father – who obviously had just tried to swallow the fact that he had gotten a son-in-law who had seduced his daughter before the wedding – no, Liesl couldn't lie to him any longer. She knew that the truth would shock her parents deeply, but she couldn't live one minute longer with lying to them.

Standing up she walked over to the window, looking out at the meadow where Conversano Theokratia and Pluto Bona stood in the winter night. She suddenly felt calm and collected and, for the first time in days, secure about what she needed to do. The truth, as ugly, mortifying and shameful as it was, had to be told. Clearing her throat she turned around and looked at the three people in the room. Christopher stood once again behind the chair she had been sitting on, his hands on the back, his fingers trembling. Georg and Maria sat on the sofa, Maria holding on to his hand.

"Father, Mother – Christopher has lied to you. He did so to protect you and me from the truth that will disappoint you and that embarrasses me. He's an honourable man and therefore I won't stand by silently while he takes the blame upon himself for something he's never done."

Christopher shook his head. "Elisabeth," he interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. "You mustn't do that. It's no good."

"I need to, Christopher. I can't live with these lies. It's already gone too far." Liesl looked at her parents. "Father, Christopher never touched me. He only married me because Finlay has died and can't do so anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Georg sounded confused and angry. "Finlay Carson couldn't have married you. He was married."

"Yes, Father, I know." Liesl closed her eyes. Now came the hardest part and she wished she could already be through with it. "I knew that Finlay was married. He told me so. However, it didn't change the fact that I loved him and that I'm expecting his child."

For a moment a heavy silence hung over the room. Then Christopher moved and came to her side. "Baroness, Admiral, let me explain the situation. My brother had been very young when he married. He learned quickly that it had been a mistake and separated from his wife. They haven't seen each other in a long time and he only didn't divorce her because …"

"Lord Fenswick!" Georg had gotten up. Standing ramrod straight, his voice sounded cold and commanding. "I'm not in the least interested in your attempts to rectify your brother's atrocious behaviour! If he were here, I know quite a few things I'd like to tell him. However, your brother's dead, so the only person I'll talk to about this …," he was searching for a word, fists balled and his blue eyes blazing with rage. "… disgusting affair is my daughter!"

"Sir, with all due respect: you seem to have forgotten that your daughter is Lady Fenswick now. As her husband I think it my duty to defend her against attacks – even if they come from her own father. I will not have anyone insult my wife in front of me!" Christopher declared firmly. Breathing deeply, he proceeded, his voice softer again, "Admiral, I understand and respect that you're shocked, hurt and disappointed, but I also beg you to consider how horrible this situation was and still is for Elisabeth."

"Lord Fenswick, I'm not discussing my daughter with you!" Georg was almost yelling. "This concerns only my family!"

"I beg your pardon, Admiral, but it concerns my family too," Christopher retorted. "Finlay was my brother and the child Elisabeth is expecting will call me father." He had raised his voice too and Liesl laid her hand on his arm.

"Please, Christopher!" she whispered – feeling very touched by how he tried to defend her, but at the same time afraid that his stance would make her father even more furious.

Just at the same moment Maria reached for her husband's hand too. "Please, Georg – I don't think that arguing with Lord Fenswick will do any good."

"Father, Mother – I'm terribly sorry about disappointing you," Liesl said. "But I loved Finlay and he loved me. And I thought I had just lost my father, and Finlay," she was crying now, "was leaving the next day for the place where we thought you had been killed, Father!"

"He was a married man!" Georg's eyes had become small and his voice cold. "I thought we had taught you a few values – like respecting marriage vows. And isn't there something in the Bible to the effect of 'thou shalt not commit adultery' (4)?"

"I also remember something like 'He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her' (5)," Christopher said dryly.

Georg turned at him. "Oh – I didn't expect someone in your family to be so well versed in the Bible, Lord Fenswick!"

"Well, I didn't expect someone in your family to be such a bigot, Admiral!" Christopher promptly fired back.

"Georg!"

"Christopher!"

Once again Maria and Liesl had spoken at the same moment, and once again both tried to soothe their enraged husbands by touching their arm. Only this time, neither Maria nor Liesl succeeded. Georg and Christopher were standing opposite each other like fighting bulls, both bent forward with their fists balled. Georg face had turned red and his eyes were blazing while Christopher's eyes were an icy grey and his mouth a tight line.

"Lord Fenswick, it's rather obvious that your family's ideas about morale and decency are not exactly in accord with mine. I can assure you: adultery isn't something taken lightly in my family – or so I thought, at least until today."

Liesl felt like she had been slapped in the face. "I didn't take it lightly, Father," she whispered.

He only looked at her, disappointment and fury clearly written on his face.

Swallowing she proceeded: "I know I've sinned, Father, and I also know that I've disappointed you terribly."

"I once was in love with a man who was engaged to another woman," Maria said calmly. "I don't know if I would be without sin because I'm not sure how I would have reacted if he had come close to me."

"Maria!" Georg turned at her. "I wouldn't have approached you without getting my affairs in order beforehand!"

"Not even if you wouldn't have gotten a chance to do so because you had been commanded back to the war the next day?" Maria asked, her voice almost a whisper.

"Not even then!" Georg snorted. "You should know me better than to ask that!"

"You're right, Georg. I should know you better."

Liesl could only marvel how collected and calm Maria sounded. Yet there was something about this calmness that made her feel chilly again. What was Maria up to? Now she was speaking again, and there was an edge to her voice Liesl had never heard before.

"You've often marveled about how alike Liesl and I are, Georg, while I always thought that she was very much _your_ daughter. But now I think you were right – she's more like me than like you. And there's one big difference between you and Liesl and me. You put your principles above all while Liesl and I value love most."

Liesl didn't exactly know why and how, but looking at her father's face – suddenly not furious anymore, but deeply hurt – she knew that Maria had hit a weak spot. And knowing how deeply Maria loved her husband, Liesl was also aware that Maria couldn't hurt him without feeling his pain herself.

"Mother!" Liesl ran over and sank down at Maria's feet, reaching for her hand. "Please!" she sobbed. "Don't start an argument with father to defend me! I don't deserve it! I've gotten myself into this horrible situation all by myself and it's not right to get you in trouble too!"

"Liesl …" Maria bent down and pulled Liesl close. "I can't approve of what you've done, but as your husband said: 'He that is without sin among you …'" Stroking Liesl's cheek, she kissed her. "Nothing that you've ever done or will do can change the fact that you're my beloved daughter. And the same goes for your father, even if he's too stubborn to admit it just now. But he will when he's calmed down."

"Calming down sounds like a great idea to me," Christopher said and came over to Maria and Liesl. "The last few days were rather draining for Elisabeth. I think she needs some rest and therefore I'd very much like to take her home now." He offered Liesl his hand. "Come, Elisabeth – I'll get you home."

Liesl was very grateful for his warm, strong hand helping her up. She wasn't sure if she would have been able to stand upright on her own, tired and weary as she was.

Quietly she said: "Thank you, Mother, for all you've ever done for me." Turning around she looked at her father. He stood at the window, his back to the room, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders tensed. Liesl knew she wouldn't get him to talk to her, but she nevertheless couldn't leave him like that. "I'm really sorry, Father," she whispered.

"Come, darling. I'll see you out." Maria put her arm around Liesl's shoulder and guided her out to the hall and towards the door. Arriving at the porch, she kissed Liesl's cheek. "I just remember my Reverent Mother's old saying: 'Whenever God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window'. There will be an open window for you and your father too. It will perhaps take some time to see it, but never forget that he loves you dearly."

Liesl tried to swallow her tears. "Mother, I love him too – and I feel so terrible about disappointing him and you so badly. And I'm sorry, terribly sorry that you're probably in trouble with Father too now. I didn't want this to happen."

"Liesl, you know: that's not our first argument and it certainly won't be our last. We'll make it through as always, so don't worry about us; just look after yourself and your baby." Maria turned to Christopher who was just laying her coat around Liesl's shoulders. "Lord Fenswick, I thank you for standing up for our daughter. I hope we'll meet soon under more pleasant circumstances."

Christopher bent down and kissed her hand. "Baroness, you are as wise as you are beautiful. I do hope that you'll find it in your heart one day to call me 'Christopher'."

To be continued

(1) There is one thing in "Sound of Music" which always makes me cringe: Maria's "Schnitzel with noodles." I am from Southern Germany, have a lot of Austrian friends and spent some time in Austria, so I can assure you: No Austrian (or someone from Southern Germany) would ever eat Schnitzel with noodles. For us "Schnitzel" means a Vienna Schnitzel – and that is crusted with bread crumbs and grilled in very hot oil so that the bread crumbs become crunchy. If it were served with noodles, one would need gravy with it (neither the Austrians nor we in Southern Germany would ever eat noodles without any gravy) which means: the gravy would soak through the crunchy crusting of the Schnitzel. The very idea is disgusting to me! Therefore I made Maria serve Schnitzel how it is really done in Austria and Southern Germany: with potato salad!

(2) Tafelspitz: Prime boiled beef, an Austrian speciality, mostly served with boiled potatoes and a horseradish sauce.

(3) Sachertorte: A chocolate cake, originally a speciality of the Hotel Sacher in Vienna. A lot of people like it, but I think it too dry.

(4) Exodus, 20:14

(5) John 8:7, Jesus about the adulteress


	18. Chapter 18

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Thanks to Trapper, my great beta.

_**Chapter 18: Letters**_

January 1943 – February 1943

_Christopher Lord Fenswick to Admiral Georg von Trapp_

_Washington, January 2, 1943_

Admiral,

I need to apologize. In our conversation the other day my temper got the better of me. I expressed opinions certainly not appropriate to be uttered in that way. My deplorable behaviour could be interpreted as lack of respect, but rest assured, Sir, that this was not my intention nor does it accord with my feelings towards you.

In the hope of your forgiveness I remain, with my regards to the Baroness, your obedient servant,

Christopher Fenswick

* * *

_Admiral Georg von Trapp to Christopher Lord Fenswick,_

_Annapolis, January 4, 1943_

Lord Fenswick,

Your letter was a pleasant surprise. Nevertheless, I cannot accept your apology. As honourable as your obvious tendency to take blame upon yourself is, in this case you were not at fault. To attack you for the misbehaviour of your late brother and my daughter was neither fair nor befitting. You showed nothing but noblesse towards my daughter and my family. For that I am indeed grateful, and so it is I who must apologize. I behaved badly, and I can only ask you to forgive a father who found (and still finds) it exceptionally difficult to deal with what he sees as failings in his goals.

Yours, sincerely – Georg v. Trapp

* * *

_Baroness Maria von Trapp to Lady Elisabeth Fenswick_

_Annapolis, January 4, 1943_

Darling,

Is it possible that you have married an exceptionally gifted diplomat? You probably know that your husband wrote a letter to your father and, lo and behold, your father, who sometimes – as you know only too well – is able to outperform an entire family of mules in matters of mulishness, has admitted that your lord and master is nothing if not a gentleman.

But how are you? I miss you and so do your siblings (and your father, though he would rather swallow a toad than admit it at the moment). Wouldn't you like to visit us soon? Tomorrow we will move into our new house. Please, do come and see us!

Your loving mother (in a terrible hurry because of the move)

* * *

_Lady Elisabeth Fenswick to Baroness Maria von Trapp_

_Washington, January 5, 1943_

Dearest Mother,

Thank you for your letter! It arrived an hour ago and was brought to me with the breakfast I am supposed to have in bed. Our housekeeper and my husband are rather firm about this, both obviously believing that pregnancy is a kind of sickness that must be tended to by putting the patient in bed for at least twelve hours a day, feeding her five times a day – and woe is me if I do not eat all of the nice, healthy vegetables and fruits cook is preparing – and only allowing her up for little strolls around the park, short shopping trips, writing letters and supervising the servants' work on the nursery. As grateful as I am for the care I am getting here, I am already afraid that I will become rather bored over the next few months.

To think now that you are moving and that I could help you with unpacking boxes – it sounds tempting and exciting. The few boxes I am soon to get from my flat in New York certainly won't make up for the fun we could have with yours.

Oh, Mother, I would so love to see you and to talk to you, but I am afraid Father wouldn't approve of me coming to the house. He probably fears the fallen daughter would be a bad influence on her younger siblings.

About the letter my lord and master wrote, I didn't know, but I am glad to learn that it was kindly received by Father. I am pretty sure his lordship (as his servants always address him) is a brilliant diplomat. In any case, he is a very busy one, which means I hardly ever see him. He leaves the house hours before my breakfast is served and, most evenings at dinner, her ladyship (that's me) is told by the butler (that' is Yates) that his lordship (that is, as far as I remember, the man under whose roof I am living) regrets not being able to attend. Yet his lordship hardly ever forgets to ask his butler to inquire about her ladyship's state of health – I suppose Yates writes down my usual "Thanks, I'm fine" and delivers the note – of course on a silver tray – to our lord and master with the early morning tea.

I wonder if Yates is already polishing the silver tray he will use to present my baby to his lordship. In every case he already informed me that his lordship ordered the housekeeper at the house in England to send the diapers Fenswick babies are to wear over here. Obviously Fenswick offspring must have their family crest on their diapers or they won't develop the amount of stiffness required in this family.

And no, Mother, don't get me wrong: I am really grateful to live in such a beautiful house and to be waited on hand and foot and to know that my child will have anything money can buy. Nevertheless, I sometimes feel homesick and I do miss my siblings and you.

Do you think you could, perhaps, when you are done with the move, come visit me?

Always your loving daughter, Liesl

* * *

_Christopher Lord Fenswick to Mr Max Detweiler_

_Washington, January 10, 1943_

Sir,

I need your help in a matter concerning your goddaughter. I am afraid she sometimes feels rather lonely in our house, and I think it would be helpful for her to proceed with her studies as far as her condition allows her to. Therefore, I would like to get her a vocal coach, but not being familiar with musicians, I need a recommendation. Could you perhaps provide one?

Sincerely – C. Fenswick

* * *

_Elisabeth Lady Fenswick to Baroness Maria von Trapp_

_Washington, January 15, 1943_

Dearest Mother,

It was so good of you to visit me yesterday! It was the nicest surprise I can think of and even today I'm smiling remembering it. Just now I was walking through the ground floor again and yes, you are right, Mother: It really mustn't look this gloomy and unused. Until now I never thought much about it. I accepted it _as is_, believing it was just how the master of the house wants it. You made me wonder about that, and so I had a look at his study. I had only been in there once before and at the time I really didn't feel like studying the interior. So it was "new" to me today, though I felt like an intruder opening the door and therefore didn't really go in. I limited myself to a look around – and realized once again that you are "as wise as you are beautiful." The study indeed doesn't look as cold and forbidding as the rest of the house.

It is a very "manly" room with a lot of dark wood, leather and green velvet curtains, but it reminds me – in a pleasant way – of the study in Aigen. There are lots of books, there is a beautiful painting of an English landscape over the fireplace, and there are even some foreign thinks. Yet they aren't Chinese like the collection in Aigen but–at least I suppose – Indian.

At any rate, my look into the study convinced me that the master of the house probably really wouldn't mind me trying to make both sitting rooms, the hall and the dining room a bit more "lively." Therefore I will go shopping later. I think the first things I will get are a few vases and flowers and then perhaps some nice, bright pillows for the dark sofas in the green salon, don't you think? It is said that it's a wife's task to make a house a home – and though I don't think I will ever be as good at that as you, I am going to give it a try. What else do I have to do – besides singing lessons, that is.

I am looking forward to my next one tomorrow and I am very grateful to Uncle Max for recommending Mr Bethwhistle. You know, he is quite different from all the coaches I have had before. They were all opera singers and very much into the "belcanto," while Mr. Bethwhistle is the epitome of an English lyric baritone. I admire how cultivated his voice is, I am in awe of his deep knowledge of music and singing techniques, and I am already convinced that I will learn a great deal from him. I only hope I won't stretch his patience too much. I am so used to simply singing along that I find it quite hard to do so much analysing and planning beforehand. On the other hand, it really is fascinating and interesting.

Oops – the driver is waiting for me. I have to run!

Your loving daughter, Liesl

P.S. Anything new about Stephan?

* * *

_Lieutenant Friedrich von Trapp to Elisabeth Lady Fenswick_

_USS Shiloh, January 16, 1943_

Schwesterherz (1),

or must I call you "my lady" now?

One thing is certain: You are good at surprises! Getting Father's last letter I was prepared for a lot of things – I mean, with a family like ours, one is always bound to learn that one has gotten another sibling, horse, cat, dog, hamster, or another home – but I certainly didn't imagine you suddenly becoming the wife of a lord. Actually I have always thought that I would be a proud and happy brother on your wedding day, but now I find myself being a worried one – and not only because Father seems pretty mad at you, but because I didn't hear the news from _you_. Don't get me wrong, Liesl: I am neither angry nor sulking, but considering that we have always trusted each other, your silence and father's anger makes me wonder what happened.

I mean, I know our beloved sire. You coming home, beaming with happiness and announcing that you had just married the love of your life certainly wouldn't have made him jump for joy. Instead, he would have given you and your new husband a lengthy speech about recklessness - a trait he never was prone to demonstrate as we all know. He certainly got his entire collection of medals by long planning and thorough consideration and thought a great deal – for at least half a second – before steering his U-boat towards a torpedo. Besides, he always needed an eternity to make up his mind about proposing – he knew our mother for about two weeks and Maria for at least an entire month!

But I digress, so back to the subject: I simply cannot believe that he would remain so angry if you were happy and everything were fine.

I cannot help thinking that there is more behind this story than a whirlwind romance. And the mystery surrounding it makes me wish I could be with you now, because I am afraid you are in trouble and I would like to help you.

If there is anything I can do, like trying to talk to Father, please let me know!

Until then I would like you to give my new brother-in-law my best regards. I hope to come home in the spring for a few days and I am looking forward to meeting him, and you, then.

Yours, Friedrich

* * *

_Elisabeth Lady Fenswick to Baroness Maria von Trapp_

_Washington, January 19, 1943_

Mother dear,

I wish I could call you just now, but it is around ten o'clock and I don't think Father would take such a disturbance in the night kindly.

Oh, Mother, why is life so complicated? I had just started to hope mine would become a bit calmer now, but – let me start at the very beginning.

Tonight I had the honour of sharing dinner with his lordship. Only it wasn't a pleasure because his mood was rather gloomy. His Ambassador, bless his innocent, naïve soul, has decided that it is high time to throw a "glorious party" to introduce his minister's wife to Washington's society. Of course, said minister tried to talk the Ambassador out of it, even going so far that he gave him a hint about "our hopes for the future" (the way diplomats can wrap ugly facts in nice-sounding words will never cease to amaze me), only this didn't work, just the opposite: The Ambassador became only more determined to have the party before it becomes too tiresome for me.

You can imagine how I feel about the prospect of playing the happy, newlywed Lady Fenswick, but that is unfortunately not all. The Ambassador wants, of course, to invite Father and you.

When I heard that, my first reaction was, "The Admiral will not attend." However, his lordship thinks otherwise. He explained to me that the Americans and the British are allies and that it would be seen as an "unforgivable faux pas" if an American admiral declined an invitation from the English Ambassador. Besides, he believes we are all able to leave our "private differences" at home for one night and keep up the façade in public.

Mother, what can we do now? I know Father doesn't want to see me and under these circumstances I am not keen on meeting him either. I think I am going to be ill the night of the party.

Already feeling pretty miserable – your Liesl

* * *

_Baroness Maria von Trapp to Elisabeth Lady Fenswick_

_Washington, January 20, 1943_

My dear Liesl,

I have hardly ever used my "motherly authority" on you, but now I think it is necessary. You will not pretend to be sick the night of the party! Instead you will call your tailor, order yourself an elegant new dress, then you will make an appointment with your hair dresser, and on the night of the party you will attend on your husband's arm, smiling and – when meeting your father – pretending that you are a loving daughter. I expect you to do nothing less than your best because that is what you owe your husband!

Must I really remind you that Lord Fenswick went through a lot of trouble to help you out of a horrible situation? You have told me yourself he expects nothing back other than a certain loyalty – and it is this loyalty that obligates you to play your role at his side to the best of your ability.

Liesl, I do understand how hard this seems to you. But you will not be alone in it. Your husband will be there with you and I will be there.

I would love to visit with you just now or at least write a little more, but I am in a hurry. Stephan's uncle insists on a hearing. He doesn't want to raise his nephew, but he doesn't want us to have guardianship either. It is rather complicated and tiresome; therefore, your father and I need to talk to our lawyer now.

Your loving Mother

* * *

_Elisabeth Lady Fenswick to Baroness Maria von Trapp_

_Washington, January 22, 1943_

I am sorry, Mother,

I obviously was overcome with a kind of panic when I first heard about the party. Of course I will not pretend to be sick. I know what obligations I have toward my husband.

I am sorry to hear about your trouble with Stephan's uncle. I really don't understand the man. He should be happy for Stephan for finding a new family and a home! But I am sure: whatever trouble he stirs up, in the end Stephan will become, truly and officially, a member of our family.

By the way: I was speaking with my husband about your problems with Stephan's uncle. He told me there is a rumour going around about the President wanting to meet his newest admiral and the brave boy who saved his life. My husband thinks this rather likely – probably, so he said, the President will want to give Father the Congressional Medal of Honor personally and use this opportunity to see Stephan too. So I actually think you should come to my couturier with me – you will not only need something for the party, but for a visit to the White House too.

I must start singing. Mr. Bethwhistle will be here for my lesson in half an hour. Only one thing more, I don't need to pretend I am a loving daughter. I am one. I just wonder if I still have a loving father.

Yours, Liesl

* * *

_Elisabeth Lady Fenswick to Lieutenant Friedrich von Trapp_

_Washington, January 24, 1943_

Oh, my Fritz (2),

I was so glad to get your letter! For days I have tried to compose one to you, but never could get past the first three lines, always thinking: "He certainly is so mad he doesn't want to hear your lame excuses." But you must know that I would have loved to talk to you and that if you had been here, I would certainly have done so. However, you are away and certain things aren't to be written down in letters.

Only this much: you are right. There wasn't a whirlwind romance behind my marriage. Nevertheless you mustn't worry about me. Your new brother-in-law is an honourable man and I am sure you will come to appreciate him. I am glad to be married to him though I must admit that it still feels rather odd to be "Lady Fenswick" and to live in this big house with an entire cadre of terribly stuffy servants around. But at least I can be sure that my husband's butler would never become a Nazi like Franz. Yates – that is his name (and don't ask me for his Christian name. I am not even sure he's got one. To me he looks like something that slipped out of an egg once, immaculately dressed in a black suit and already the perfect "gentleman's gentleman") – keeps high standards and would think Herr Hitler too "vulgar."

I don't know how much you were told about my husband, so I would like to give you at least a little bit of information about him. My lord is twenty years my senior. Actually he is a professor of history and taught at Oxford, but when the trouble with the Nazis started he became a consultant for the ministry of foreign affairs and consequently a diplomat, assigned to Washington as the Ambassador's deputy. I still don't know exactly what the Minister of an Embassy (that is my husband's official function) actually does, but whatever it is, it keeps him very busy. I don't see much of him, but it is not too bad because at the moment I am rather busy myself with redecorating our house.

Besides, Uncle Max has found me a wonderful voice teacher. Mr Bethwhistle is British too and has mostly done church music and Liedgesang (3). He has the most cultivated lyric baritone you can imagine. We have started to work on some Schumann and Wolf, and I am now dreaming about singing these pieces in a concert one day with my brilliant brother accompanying me at the piano.

About our dear sire: Friedrich, the subject is touchy and difficult. On the one hand, I can't deny that he has good reason to be angry at me. When I came home to our parents after my wedding and told them what led to it, I knew that Father would be disappointed and furious. I was also aware that he would never think of me as he did before.

However, I wasn't prepared to become something like the "disowned daughter." Yet that is how I feel now – and not only because he doesn't speak to me anymore. Louisa came to see me yesterday (without his knowledge) and she told me that she heard him talking to Uncle Max. Uncle Max, bless him, obviously tried to speak up for me and was told by our Father that he didn't want to discuss "Lady Fenswick." To him I am obviously not his daughter Liesl anymore.

Therefore I don't want you to talk to him about me. It is bad enough that Mother is already having arguments about "Lady Fenswick" with him – I would hate to cause another row and not only because I want to spare you, but because I know that Father takes all of this pretty hard too. I violated his values and principles, making him feel ashamed of me – and you know that isn't something our proud Father deals with easily. And even as Lady Fenswick I am still his daughter and don't want to cause him even more heartache.

Oh, Friedrich, you don't know what I would give if I only could speak for half an hour with you! Please, promise me to look after yourself! I need my wonderful little brother back so badly! I know I can tell you everything and you'll keep loving me in spite of everything as much as I will always love you.

Take care!

Your Liesl

* * *

_Baroness Maria von Trapp to Elisabeth Lady Fenswick_

_New York, January 26, 1943_

Dear Liesl,

Please forgive me for not answering your last letter earlier, but we needed to go to New York for another – the final – talk with the horrible uncle. Our lawyer at last got him to tell why he wanted custody of Stephan.

Stephan's father was a rather wealthy man. He owned a not too small house in Pest and now his brother hoped that with him becoming Stephan's guardian he could get his hands on it after the war.

Yesterday the entire affair was discussed in court and after two rather nerve-wracking hours we got guardianship of Stephan. And the judge recommended us as Stephan's adoptive parents, so the adoption will be a mere formality.

I was so relieved I actually would have liked to celebrate yesterday, but your Father wasn't in the mood – which brings me right to the subject I want to talk to you about.

Liesl, I am your mother and I love you. But I am also your Father's wife and hence I won't let anyone, not even you, be unjust against my husband. To doubt his love for you was unfair, Liesl!

I know how difficult your situation is, and I can imagine how miserable and lonely you must feel. However, your Father is suffering too. He feels as though he failed in your upbringing, and he is hurt because you didn't trust him enough to speak to him before you married Lord Fenswick – and he has become terribly afraid of our family falling apart.

As far as this is concerned I am afraid I made a mistake too. It was neither wise nor appropriate to attack him when he was already down and it certainly was unfair of me to hit him directly at his weakest spot.

Since the moment he decided to leave Austria, he struggled with doubts. Especially during our first months in America, he couldn't stop worrying about whether he hadn't done terribly wrong by making his children lose their home and – as he once expressed it – "everything you held dear" because he wanted to keep up his principles. And even today he isn't really comfortable about it. He still fears that one day one of you will accuse him of making you suffer for his values.

Our argument on the New Year's Eve certainly didn't help that. We have sorted it out since then, but you know he always needs time to come to terms with such things. You also know that the last few months weren't easy for him. As strong and brave as your Father is – he is also a sensitive, deep-feeling man.

So I ask you not to doubt his love for you, but simply give him some time to come around. He will – I am sure about that.

Your Father is inspecting something at the moment. As soon as he is back, we'll head back to Washington. Tomorrow I will need to go to Stephan's school in the morning and in the afternoon I will take him, Marta and Gretl to the dentist. On Tuesday it will be shopping in the morning and laundry – I don't even want to think of the mountain of laundry waiting for me at home – in the afternoon, but what do you think about coming over for tea? Johannes keeps asking when you will visit next time to play with him and Marta wants a new dress and needs your advice. We all miss you terribly!

Your loving Mother

PS: It just so happens that your father will be away on Thursday and Friday. So I could even pester you to tell me all about rumours about a certain medal of honour he of course doesn't want to hear about.

* * *

_Admiral Georg von Trapp to Lieutenant Friedrich von Trapp_

_Washington, Februar 2, 1943_

Congratulations, son,

You have another brother – and this time it is even one who doesn't need to be babysat, and who is already up to "sensible talk" as Kurt stated these days, making me wonder when it was that Kurt started talking sense.

Anyway, your mother and I are very relieved and glad that the battle for Stephan is over. Last week we were finally given full custody of him and just this morning I signed the forms to adopt him. While doing so I came across a line which asked me to announce a "back-up" guardian for Stephan in case your Mother and I can't be there anymore. I stated that my oldest son, a certain Friedrich von Trapp, would take over.

However, neither your Mother nor I intend to drop dead in the next few years. Admittedly I can't guarantee that I'll keep what little is left of my sanity until Stephan is ready for college. At the moment everyone around attacks it, starting with my new yeoman – whose spelling abilities make me wonder who the non-native English speaker in this office of mine is – and continuing with some very creative bureaucrats. Until I came here I always thought that "creativity" and "bureaucrat" were a contradiction in terms, but the paper shufflers here are real miracle-workers when it comes to new ideas! Just today I got an official inquiry about the regulations for toilet paper used on submarines and now I wonder if perhaps I neglected my duties as a commanding officer for years in never even thinking about how many rolls of toilet paper a submarine must be stocked with each week. However, just pushing the inquiry around on my desk makes me fondly remember the Liberty's first engineer who always maintained that most regulations are only suited "for the backside" (I don't think I need to tell you that he used another word).

I generally would have had enough with the yeoman and the toilet paper, but I am in Washington, and so I get a lot of opportunities to talk with politicians too, which always is a great pleasure. It is simply wonderful to have someone who has never been on a submarine tell me how to do my job. Obviously becoming a senator or something like that prompts an immense increase of knowledge on all subjects.

Alas, dealing with all these things seems to be the price I have to pay to sleep in my own bed and be with my family – and I certainly don't need to tell you what that means to me. Barbara and Phillip are such fun – she babbles all the time now, while he is a rather quiet fellow but always smiling and happy. Johannes, in the meantime, has discovered the joys of climbing. Brigitta wonders if he is perhaps closer to our ancient ancestors, the apes, than the rest of us because he seems to be always up a tree when you want him. I would say he is his mother's son in this – she still loves climbing trees and will probably one day demonstrate this art to our grandchildren.

In addition to thinking about Johannes' ancestors, Brigitta has started to write her first book – a chronicle of our family (perhaps thinking about Johannes' ancestors had something to do with it? I must think on that). It boggles the mind to think how one will appear in it – you know your sister still notices everything and is never shy about uttering her honest opinion about it.

Under these circumstances, I am quite relieved that Kurt's main interest – besides his girlfriend, of course – is still the deconstruction of cars. Whenever he comes close to mine, my driver looks as if he would like to throw himself protectively over the hood.

Louisa has an admirer, but he is actually an unfortunate boy because your sister is still more interested in everything furred and four-legged than in the human species. Therefore the only chance the young man gets to spend time with her is helping her with the horses and the menagerie she has acquired. At the moment it contains three small hedgehogs (which came with a few thousand lice – but I am told Louisa has dealt with that, and I hope that her love of animals does not include lice) which, according to Louisa's expert opinion, wouldn't make it through the winter without her help; a turtle that limps worse then me and manages – so your charming sister Brigitta says – to look "even more grumpy than Father correcting Marta's math homework"; two always-squeaking guinea pigs and more kittens than I care to count. Two of them have even managed to make it into the house (I do remember telling my dear family that I don't care for cats in the house. But said family obviously believes I get my fair share of obedience at my job; therefore, they don't mind me at home anymore).

Yet as far as the kittens are concerned my yeoman – the one with the spelling problem – proved himself more resourceful than I would have thought. Did you know that sticky tape really helps against cat hair on a uniform?

As for Marta, she told me yesterday that she wants to become a fashion designer. I am afraid I frustrated her by explaining that even a fashion designer needs some knowledge about mathematics – a thought which will probably cause her to change her plans again.

Gretl already does so on a weekly basis. Last week she wanted to become a pilot, but two days before she decided that pilots are too rarely at home; therefore, she now wants to become a diplomat – because they live in beautiful houses, have lots of servants, and certainly aren't required to make their beds themselves.

I need not elaborate as to how she gained these insights on the life of a diplomat, need I? Tomorrow your Mother and I will acquire some too. We are to attend a party the British Ambassador is throwing to introduce the new Lady Fenswick to society. Therefore your Mother sent me to the barber today where I met my new son-in-law and learned that your sister is excited about the party and very busy redecorating her house. When she is done with that, the entire von Trapp clan will be invited there, so the master of the house told me. I am not entirely sure if he is really aware that the entire von Trapp clan includes two very lively toddlers, a very curious Brigitta (whose questions will make Lord Fenswick wish he had invited a few members of the Spanish Inquisition with their thumbscrews instead of her) and two boys who eat as if they haven't been fed in weeks – and yes, Stephan is even worse than Kurt!

One wonders if his wife perhaps refrained from having him meet the family before the wedding because she was afraid of him running away.

Your Mother would scold me for sarcasm now. Before it gets worse, I will finish this letter with a piece of fatherly advice to you: paper doesn't bite. You really mustn't be afraid of it hurting you when you pick it up once to write a letter to your poor, suffering father.

Take care, son!

Your loving father, Georg v. Trapp

To be continued

(1) Schwesterherz: Sister heart, German term of endearment used between siblings

(2) "Fritz" is the common German short form of "Friedrich"

(3) Liedgesang: I don't think there's a proper English word for it. It means singing pieces like Schubert's "Winterreise".


	19. Chapter 19

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: As always I have to thank my dear and wonderful beta Trapper.

_**Chapter **__**19: I could have danced all night**_

February 1943

Georg braced his shoulders and tugged at his jacket. He didn't like the blue dress uniform of the Americans much – the jacket was too short for his taste and the upper button on the right side sat too high. Whenever he breathed deeply, his medals hit the button and made an irritating jingling noise. He had tried to avoid it by simply wearing only the two American medals he had received, but Maria had insisted on him putting at least one Austrian medal there too. "No one will recognize the Maria-Theresien Cross when you wear it with a black ribbon around your neck. I want to see a bit of Austrian red and white on you!" He had of course explained to her then that the red and white ribbon around the neck was only worn with tails, while with the dress dinner uniform it needed to be worn on a black band, but Maria had been stubborn in this case. "You're not something the Navy discovered. You were already an acclaimed hero as an Austrian captain and I want you to show it to them."

So he now wore the Austrian colours on his chest and tried to ignore the irritating jingle. At least he had found a pleasant way to ignore it: he simply looked at Maria. She wore once again a soft blue frock – the colour he liked her best in because it reminded him of the lovely dress she had worn when he had kissed her for the first time.

This time it was blue velvet with a long skirt and a small train. The dress showed her slim waist and though its décolletage was rather modest, it nevertheless gave hints of the firm, round breasts Maria still had. Georg found her beautiful and had told her so in the car, getting a sweet kiss and a chuckle as a reward. "Why, thank you, Admiral! I think you look rather nice yourself – still the most handsome man in the Navy."

They were now at the top of the stairs of the Embassy and standing in front of the door to its great hall. Georg once again tugged at his jacket, then pulled off his right glove – he would have to kiss the hand of the Ambassador's escort – and offered Maria his arm.

Taking it, she squeezed it and smiled up at him. "Well, then …"

He knew that she was nervous. As adeptly as she had proven herself, she still didn't feel comfortable when she had to attend a social function at his side. He had often assured her that she had no reason to feel out of place. She was beautiful, and her charm always worked wonderfully on people. However, tonight he understood that she was tense. The rift between Liesl and him worried her terribly. She felt the thorn between him and the daughter to whom she had always been especially close.

Georg knew that Maria wished nothing more than a reconciliation, but as much as he would have liked to see her smile again, he couldn't overcome his disappointment in Liesl and his anger about her behaviour. That she had fallen in love with Finlay Carson – he understood. Who was he to judge his daughter about loving someone unsuitable? He had married his children's governess – certainly not a suitable match either.

Somehow he even understood that she had wanted to consummate this love, despite her lover being married. Maria had hammered it into his head more than once: "I don't say it was right what he did, but in a way I understand why Liesl didn't fully realize he was still married."

He still found it hard to accept that his daughter had given herself to a man she had only known for a few days, but on the other hand, how long had he known Maria before he had proposed to her?

No, what Georg really couldn't deal with was that Liesl obviously hadn't even thought of coming to him when she had discovered her pregnancy. He certainly wouldn't have congratulated her, but he was her father and whatever had happened, he would have stood by her and helped her! Yet she hadn't trusted him. Instead she had married a stranger. One didn't need to be a prophet to see that the chances of this marriage ever becoming a happy one were close to nil. She didn't love the man and he – well, Georg knew enough people in Washington now, and he had listened around a bit. What he had heard about his new son-in-law hadn't been to his liking: brilliant but cold, inapproachable, terribly proud, and arrogant were the words which came to people's mind when asked about Lord Fenswick.

When he had told Maria about that, they had almost argued again because she had commented dryly: "Sounds like what people would say when asked their opinion of a certain Austrian Admiral." Then she had chuckled, "And if someone had asked me during my first weeks in your house, I would have added 'stubborn, sarcastic, and all too full of himself.'"

However, there was something about Lord Fenswick that Georg hadn't told Maria about. A friend, who normally was well informed, had said: "Fenswick is a very private man. No one knows much about his life outside the Embassy, but there were always rumours about him being quite a ladies' man. There is a rather scandalous story about a young lady he was engaged to in England and there's something about a woman in New York he keeps visiting frequently. Besides, people are gossiping about Fenswick having been rather close to his Ambassador's late wife and even closer to the lovely opera singer the Ambassador is now often seen with. In any case, it's well known that quite a few ladies in Washington were rather unhappy when they learned that Fenswick married and is now probably out of the game."

"Georg!" Maria whispered.

"Sorry – I got distracted." He smiled down at her and handed his invitation card to the servant waiting at the door.

He looked at it, bowed and opened the door, stepping forward and announcing loudly: "Baroness and Rear Admiral Ritter von Trapp."

Three steps into the hall, they were greeted by the Ambassador – a lush brunette at his side – and the Embassy's minister with his young wife.

Looking at Liesl, Georg's brow furrowed in disapproval. As a man he could have admired her burgundy silk dress, which showed not only her shoulders and the swell of her breast, but a generous amount of a long, shapely leg too. As her father he couldn't approve of it. What had she thought by selecting something so sexy? She was too young to show so much skin! And besides she certainly wasn't in a situation to look so glamorous and resplendent!

Now she had seen him and, of course, she had interpreted his scowl correctly. She raised her chin and for a moment he saw the defiance in her eyes that had always been so typical of her. She had always been the only one of his children he couldn't intimidate.

"Baroness, Admiral," the Ambassador bent over Maria's hand and kissed it. "What a pleasure to see you! May I introduce you to our lovely hostess Madam van Dyck?" Smiling at his escort he proceeded: "Elaine, meet Baroness and Admiral von Trapp who is not only a true hero, but also the father of our dear Lady Fenswick."

Now it was Georg's turn to bend down, kiss the hostess' hand, and pay her a compliment. One step to the left, then, and he found himself eye to eye with his son-in-law. Lord Fenswick wore tails, and the red band of the Bath order hung at his neck. His hair shimmered golden in the light of the candles, reminding Georg of Maria's.

Lord Fenswick was without doubt an imposing figure, though Georg registered that he was rather pale and had dark, purple shadows under his eyes.

"It's good to see you," Lord Fenswick said, and then, after a tiny moment of hesitation, Georg saw a glimmer in his eyes and heard him finish his sentence with a rather sarcastic-sounding "Admiral."

"We have you to thank for the invitation," Georg replied and added, without hesitation because he had steeled himself beforehand, "Christopher."

Christopher Fenswick forced a smile and took Maria's hand, his smile becoming genuine and warm. "Baroness, you look wonderful! I hope you'll do me the honour of dancing with me later." He bent down and kissed her hand.

"It will be my pleasure, Christopher!"

Georg heard Maria's voice as if it came through a mist. He stood in front of his daughter, and while a part of him wanted to pull her into his arms, another part still felt angry and hurt.

Liesl was curtseying. "Father …" Her voice was flat and trembled.

"Elisabeth." He bent down and kissed her cheek. "I hope you're well."

For a tiny moment he was afraid she would start to cry, but then the defiant look was back. "Of course, Father. There's no need for you to worry about me."

"Darling, you look ravishing!" Maria once more saved the day. She simply pulled Liesl into her arms and kissed her.

"Mother, I'm so glad you're here!" Now Liesl sounded like a lost child, and for a moment Georg cursed himself.

Had it really been necessary to act so cold towards her? Wasn't she still his firstborn, his Liesl? Yet looking at her once again made a wave of sadness wash over him. No, she wasn't his Liesl anymore. This exquisitely dressed young woman who had now taken her husband's arm wasn't his sweet, innocent baby girl. She lived a life of her own, a life in which she obviously didn't need her father anymore. Or why else hadn't she spoken to him in weeks? She only came home when she knew that he wasn't there.

Of course, Maria had tried to explain Liesl's afternoon visits to him. "She wants to be at home for dinner. Lord Fenswick always leaves early, and he doesn't want her to have to get up then, so she's only able to see him in the evenings."

When she told him that, Maria had been unaware of a small detail: the Admiralty was located just opposite the British Embassy and even shared a garage with it. When Georg moved into his new office, his chief of staff, who loved gossip, had immediately told him how funny he thought it was that his windows looked out on the corner of the British Embassy where his son-in-law's office was. Georg had learned that the shiny, racing-green Jaguar sports car in the garage belonged to his son-in-law. It was generally there when Georg left his office – which he often did rather early because he wanted to see his younger children before they went to bed. Yet once or twice a week he came back to the office after dinner – and he had never done so without looking over at the Embassy to find the lights in Lord Fenswick's office still on. Therefore he knew that Lord Fenswick was rarely home for dinner.

Georg and Maria had now arrived in the middle of the hall, each holding a glass of champagne. Georg knew that Maria would keep hers as long as possible – she still wasn't fond of champagne and therefore always tried to avoid drinking it. But she proved her adaptability again as she smiled at every bore he introduced her to and listened attentively to every piece of chatter blown into her ear. She even managed to sound convincing when confirming for the umpteenth time that, yes, she was indeed very proud of her husband and her ravishing daughter. Oh, of course her daughter's marriage to Lord Fenswick had been a surprise, but wasn't it romantic and didn't they make a lovely couple? Georg hadn't known his wife was so good at lying through her teeth, and he was very glad about his own reputation as a reserved man. Nobody expected him to swoon over his daughter's oh-so-romantic elopement and it was sufficient for him to smile when one of the politician's wives became excited about how happy and loving the newlywed couple looked.

Indeed, the two played their parts to perfection. Liesl, hanging on her husband's arm, had a "Am I not the happiest bride alive?" smile firmly plastered to her face while her lord looked down at her as if he might become a puddle at her lily-white feet the next second. And now he even bent down and whispered something to her, and Liesl – good heavens, how was she able to fake that? – blushed and giggled.

There was only one thing that didn't suit the performance the two gave: Lord Fenswick's all too pale, exhausted face. What had the man done with himself? He looked as if he hadn't slept properly in a fortnight and would soon keel over. And Liesl was obviously worried about him. Georg knew her well enough to recognize the look in her eyes whenever she felt herself unwatched.

Now they were obviously done greeting the guests. Lord Fenswick scanned the crowd searchingly, nodded to Liesl, and steered her towards Maria and Georg who were just talking to a senator and his wife. Arriving there, Lord Fenswick smiled at the senator and his spouse. "Forgive my interruption, ma'am, sir, but I'd like to deposit my wife with her parents for a moment. Unfortunately the time difference between Washington and London makes it sometimes unavoidable to make a transatlantic call in the evening." He turned to Georg and Maria. "Baroness, Admiral, would you excuse me for a few minutes?"

"Of course, Christopher." Maria laid her hand on Liesl's arm. "Mrs. and Senator Kelly just told us that they heard you sing at Christmas, darling."

"Elisabeth was wonderful, wasn't she?" Lord Fenswick bent down and gave Liesl a peck on the cheek. "I'll be right back."

Georg noticed that Liesl bit her bottom lip while looking after him, but then she went immediately back to her fake smile. "I'm afraid my husband isn't really objective when it comes to my singing."

"Isn't that how young husbands are supposed to be?" the Senator's wife giggled. "And it's especially charming with Lord Fenswick. One always thought he'd be immune to falling in love." She looked at Georg. "Do tell me, Admiral, aren't you terribly proud to have such a gifted singer for a daughter?"

Before Georg could answer, Liesl did: "My Father is quite used to singing children – my siblings all have wonderful voices."

"Oh yes – especially Phillip! He proves it every morning!" Georg said with a little grin.

"Well, he saves us the trouble of setting an alarm clock!" Maria laughed and explained to the senator and his wife: "Phillip is our youngest. He's just four months old and tends to announce his need for a fresh diaper every morning around five o'clock."

"Ah, yes – you have a rather big family, haven't you? Ten children, was that right?" The Senator looked at Georg as if he couldn't believe someone might really have sired so many children.

"Eleven," Maria corrected with a smile. "We're just adopting the boy who saved my husband's life in the Adriatic sea."

"Eleven children?" The Senator's wife shook her head. "My, my – that's a lot of work! How do you cope, Baroness?"

"It's not as bad as most people think," Maria answered cheerfully. "You know, the children are very good about looking after each other."

"Besides we don't have all of them at home anymore," Georg explained. "Elisabeth is, as you know, already a married woman with a house of her own. Friedrich – that's our twenty-year-old son – serves as a Lieutenant on the USS Shiloh and Louisa, who's eighteen, is already attending college. She still lives with us, but she actually helps more than causing us more work. She's to become a veterinarian and already looks after our horses."

"Nevertheless, eleven children make for a big family!" the Senator's wife repeated and smiled at Liesl. "What about you, Lady Fenswick? Do you plan on having such a large family too?"

"Not quite," Liesl replied, her voice shaking slightly. "As much as I enjoyed growing up with so many siblings, my husband isn't used to big families."

"Doesn't he have siblings?" the Senator inquired.

Liesl raised her chin once more. "Only one younger brother from his father's second marriage. He was an officer in the Navy and died a few weeks ago."

Despite what stood between them, Georg admired Liesl's strength and composure. Apart from the small tremor in her voice, her face and her countenance betrayed no emotion. But now she laid her hand on her belly and Georg understood: Liesl was protecting her unborn child. She had married a stranger to spare the child being born out of wedlock and she was firmly determined to keep the secret about his true father hidden whatever it might cost her.

Breathing deeply, Georg said: "The casualties of war – we all know what that means." Nodding briefly at Liesl, he proceeded: "Didn't I promise to show you my new office, at least from the outside? If you'd excuse us, ma'am, Senator? We'll go search for a suitable window." He offered Liesl and Maria his arms and led them away.

As soon as they were out of the couple's range, Liesl whispered, "Thank you, Father." Louder she added, "Is it true that you're my husband's neighbour? I mean, as far as your office is concerned."

"He is indeed!" Maria said, squeezing Georg's arm. "Darling, do you think we could have a look through this window there?" She pointed at the next one.

"No, Maria – that faces east. We need one to the west."

"Then we must go into the salon." Liesl moved left towards an open door.

Entering the salon, Georg discovered his son-in-law. He and his superior stood in the adjoining room, talking quietly. Now the Ambassador reached up and laid his hand on his minister's shoulder, asking him something. Christopher Fenswick shook his head and answered firmly, "With all due respect, Algernon: that's absolutely out of the question."

"We could tell the truth for once, dear boy!" the Ambassador suggested.

"Please, don't!" Fenswick sounded almost as if he were begging.

Georg didn't want to eavesdrop. Loudly he said, "I think this window will suffice. Only you won't see much – there's no light in my office."

"The guards will be irritated about that," Maria joked. "By now they're used to you spending all your nights at the office. They probably think you haven't got a home to go to."

"That's something I always scold Christopher for, too!" The Ambassador and Lord Fenswick joined the trio. "It's actually a shame how much he leaves his lovely young wife alone. Couldn't you for once try to lay down the law to him, Admiral?"

"Oho – I'm afraid British diplomats don't obey the commands of American officers," Georg responded.

"But I would of course obey to a order from my father-in-law!" Lord Fenswick assured them.

"Really?" The Ambassador's eyes were twinkling as he rubbed his hands together. "Admiral, couldn't you give Christopher an order right now? I'd so like to see my stubborn minister obeying someone for once!"

"I actually would rather have my lovely mother-in-law ordering me around," Christopher Fenswick smiled at Maria. "Can I get you a drink, Baroness?"

"See what I mean about him never obeying?" The Ambassador grinned at Georg and then looked at his watch. "Oh well, I'm afraid I must break up this nice little chat. We should start the dance." Georg registered that he looked rather anxiously at his deputy before he smiled at Liesl. "I've longed all evening to watch you dance in this glorious gown! So let's begin, please!"

Georg and Maria followed the Ambassador and the Fenswicks back into the hall where the Ambassador stepped into the middle and clapped his hands. As soon as he had the attention of the guests, he started to speak: "Ladies and gentleman, for once I don't want to bore you with a lengthy speech but only wish to welcome you here again to His Majesty's Embassy. As you know, we're here to celebrate the marriage of my dear minister Lord Fenswick. While I was fearing that he'd never settle down, he went and found himself a beautiful bride. Which gives me now the honour and the pleasure of presenting to you Lady and Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge."

While the audience applauded, Liesl curtsied, and her husband bowed, the Ambassador waved to the orchestra, which started with a waltz. Lord Fenswick bowed again, this time to Liesl, took her hand, pulled her into his arms, and swirled her around.

"They do make a lovely couple!" Maria whispered to Georg, looking at him almost provokingly.

Georg only nodded. He didn't want to admit in words that he had just thought so himself, although he wouldn't have thought it possible. At first sight Liesl and her husband didn't suit each other well: she was too small and delicate for the tall, broad-shouldered lord. Besides the age gap between them was clearly visible. While he was obviously a full-grown man, Liesl still looked like a girl – or did she? Now, watching her dance with her husband, Georg wasn't so sure about that anymore. Of course, against the broad form of her lord she looked almost fragile. But there was something in her composure and the way she held herself that was very adult and feminine. She was a woman – and suddenly it hit Georg: she wasn't only a woman, but soon to become a mother. And she showed what he had once seen in Agathe and then in Maria as they had become mothers for the first time: the confidence of a woman who was aware of her womanhood and her capacity to give life and love.

In a way the change in Liesl saddened Georg even more. He felt as if he had lost the first of his beloved daughters and he knew that sooner or later the others would follow her. On the other hand, he was proud of her. Despite all that was between them, she was his daughter and she was carrying his first grandchild. She would become a good and strong mother – of that he was sure.

Other couples had joined Liesl and her husband on the dance floor, and Maria was tugging at Georg's sleeve.

"Admiral?" she smiled at him.

"Oh, sorry!" He took her hand, laced his arm around her waist and started to dance.

"Georg?"

"Yes, darling?" He had once again been almost lost in thought.

"You know, Lord Fenswick will ask me for a dance soon." Maria whispered.

"Of course. And I also know that I'm supposed to dance with my daughter then." He had sounded sharper than he had intended to.

"Please, Georg …"

Maria didn't get to finish her sentence. Lord Fenswick had chosen just that moment to approach, Liesl on his arm. "Admiral," he bowed, "would you lend me your lovely wife for a dance? You'll get mine in exchange."

Georg only nodded and stepped aside, taking Liesl's hand. It was cold and her entire body felt tense as he pulled her towards him. She still only reached to his chin and as they started to waltz he looked down upon her dark head and suddenly remembered another petite brunette he had once held in his arms. The memory made him almost stumble and Liesl looked up at him. "Father?"

"Sorry – I was just thinking of your mother."

"Mother?" Liesl looked over to where Maria was dancing and laughing with Christopher.

"Your birthmother," Georg added.

"Oh." There was the defiant look again. "You think she wouldn't approve of me either." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"I didn't say so!" How did Liesl always manage to make him defensive with only one sentence? She was worse than Maria on that account!

"No, you didn't say so," Liesl gave back, emphasizing the 'say.'

"Elisabeth, I don't think this is the right place for such a debate!" He had almost stumbled again and was becoming angry – mostly at himself for letting her provoke him so easily.

"You're right, Father. I apologize."

She had really become adult. In former times she wouldn't have given in so quickly. And now she was even smiling at him. "Thank you, Father."

"What for?"

"For attending. I know it wasn't what you wished for," she said quietly.

"Indeed. I would have preferred to talk to you in private," he replied stiffly.

"I wouldn't know what to tell you." Liesl was sounding upset again. "I've said what there was to say. If memory doesn't fail me, I even apologized for disappointing you."

"Ah – and you've expected me to forgive and forget?"

"No, Father – but as you said: this isn't the place for such a talk." She was fighting him with his own weapons – and he didn't even get a chance to answer because the Ambassador and his lady were approaching now, asking for the next dance.

* * *

Liesl sank down on her bedside, slipped out of her shoes and heaved a sigh. Her cheeks ached from forcing a smile all night, her back hurt, and her feet felt as if she had tried to wear Cinderella's slippers. Stroking her still flat belly, she whispered, "How about you? You probably think it's time for bed, don't you? Only mummy needs to get out of this dress and – well, she'll probably start crying as soon as she's in bed. But you're already used to that, aren't you?"

Actually it was rather odd to talk to an unborn baby, but who else could she have spoken to? Her husband had hardly uttered a word since they had left the Embassy. In the car he had leaned back in his corner, eyes closed and his arms crossed over his chest. At home he had wished her a good night before disappearing towards his bedroom. He was probably very tired – or had he just had too much of her? He had been at her side all night and he had played the role of loving husband so perfectly that sometimes even Liesl had started to believe that he cared about her.

Well, now it was at least clear that he was still as aloof as ever. Obviously she wasn't much in demand among the men around her. Her husband couldn't get away from her quickly enough; her father was still furious and had given her a rather stiff farewell, and Friedrich, the only one on whose shoulder she could have cried, was still out in Italy or wherever.

Anyway, sitting on her bedside and wailing in self-pity wouldn't make things any better. With another sigh Liesl got up and stepped towards her bathroom. Just as she arrived there, a knock at the door made her turn around, her brow furrowed in concern. Who could this be in the middle of the night? She went to the door and opened it.

It was Christopher and he looked dreadful. He had been pale all night, but now, in his shirtsleeves and with his tie hanging down, he gave the impression of a man close to a breakdown. His teeth were cluttering and he leaned against the doorpost as if he could barely keep himself upright.

"Sorry for bothering you, Elisabeth," his voice was raw and flat, "but I gave Yates the night off." He breathed deeply, shuddering with it, and fumbled at his collar. "Could you perhaps help me with my stud? I can't open it."

Indeed he couldn't. His hands were trembling and his entire body was shaking.

"Christopher – for heaven's sake, what happened to you?" Liesl exclaimed. "Come in and sit down!"

"I'd rather not." He tried to smile, but it came out only as a grimace. "I'm afraid I couldn't get back up again."

"Then let me help you to your room." Liesl laid an arm around his waist, noticing with shock that his entire body was trembling. "Christopher, you need a doctor! I'll bring you to your room and then I will call one."

"No, no – it's not necessary. It's only my old malaria – no need to fuss about it," he replied, slowly walking with her to his bedroom. "I know how to handle it and it will be over soon."

His hand on her shoulder was ice cold and his steps became more and more unsteady. Liesl was relieved when they arrived at his bedroom and she was able to help him sit down on his bed. Bending over him, she unfastened the stud on his collar and started on the next on his chest.

"Thank you, Elisabeth, but you don't need to do that. I'll manage with the others."

Liesl only shook her head. He certainly wasn't up to dealing with tiny studs and cuff links. Opening his shirt, she pulled at his sleeve. "Up – we must get your cuff links out."

He nodded and raised his arm. "You're good at that!" he stated with a very tired smile.

"My father never can get his right cuff link off – and he was a widower for a few years. On Sundays when his butler was off duty, it was always my task to help him," Liesl explained. She had undone the other cuff link now and pushed the shirt down over her husband's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Elisabeth." He sounded weary and exhausted.

"What for?" Liesl helped him out of his shirt.

"I'm sorry that your father and you are so estranged in the moment. You were once very close, weren't you?"

"Well, it's not your fault that my father is so pig-headed," Liesl said, tugging at his under shirt. "Just raise your arms and I can help you out of that too."

"Elis … oh!" He put his hand in front of his mouth, stood up and stumbled towards the bathroom.

Liesl followed him hastily, once again bracing him until they were in his bathroom where he fell down in front of the toilet and started to vomit, his entire body shaking with it.

Liesl looked around and found his dressing gown hanging at the door. Taking it down she laid it around Christopher's shoulders, then she wetted a towel and held it out to him while filling a glass with water.

After a few minutes his retching stopped and he cleaned his face with the towel.

"Here, rinse your mouth!" Liesl said and gave him the glass.

"Thanks!" He greedily gulped the water down and then looked up at her, his eyes reddened and his face as white as the tiles behind him. "Elisabeth, it's better you leave now. Dealing with a bout of malaria isn't a pretty sight. But I'm not going through this for the first time, so you mustn't worry."

"Leave you? I don't think so!" Liesl stated firmly. "As for the sight, I'll tell you only this much: One doesn't grow up with eight siblings without holding a head over the toilet now and then." She reached him her hand. "Can you get up, Christopher? I think you should lie down."

"I'm afraid my stomach won't keep quiet for long."

"Then I'll get you a bucket. Just wait here for a moment!" Liesl didn't stay for a response, but ran out and down the stairs to the basement. In the room behind the kitchen she found a bucket and two copper hot-water bottles. Filling then with hot water from the reservoir in the oven, she went up the stairs again where she put the hot water bottles under her husband's blanket and stepped back into the bathroom.

He had risen up and stood now, braced against the sink with his left hand while he tried to open his trousers with the right one. Yet his fingers were still trembling too badly.

"Please, let me help you, Christopher." Liesl blushed, but her hands were steady as she reached for his waistband. The first button was simple, but with the second Liesl, who had never before opened a man's trousers, had a bit of trouble. It was sewn on the inside and she fumbled until she got it open.

"Thank you, Elisabeth." Christopher took Liesl's hand up and kissed it. "I think I can manage with the rest. Would you please let me alone for a minute?"

"If you tell me where I can find you pyjamas." Liesl smiled.

"In the left closet in my changing room. But you really mustn't bother, Elisabeth."

Once again Liesl shook her head and went out, closing the door behind her. She looked around the bedchamber. It was a big room with a four-poster bed, two cosy looking wing chairs, a low table covered with books and magazines and a large, well-stocked book shelf. Over the fireplace hung the painting of a city with many towers, which looked very English and beautiful.

To the left of it Liesl discovered a small door. It led into a well-organized changing room where she found a closet with neatly folded pyjamas. On the left side were silken pieces, mostly dark blue or bottle green; on the right were flannels for winter nights. Liesl pulled a blue one out. On the chest were the embroidered initials "CVF". It made her wonder what the "V" stood for and she sighed once more. She knew so little about the man she was married to. And yet, standing there in his changing room, surrounded by his smell, she became aware that she had started to care about him. Despite his aloofness he had become something like a friend to her, someone whose loyalty she trusted entirely and someone she felt connected to.

Stepping back into the bedroom, she looked once more around. He had thrown his tails, the white vest and his order band to the floor and she picked them up now, hanging vest and tails on the chair in the changing room. Yates would look after them tomorrow. The medal's band still in her hands, she once again came back to hear him retching in the bathroom. Neatly folding the band, she put it on the mantelpiece and marched to the door of the bathroom, wishing she could help Christopher.

Then water was running. Liesl knocked on the door. "Christopher? I've got your pyjamas. May I come in?"

"Thank you!" He opened the door and took the flannel, now wearing his dressing gown and one sock. Looking awkwardly down at it, he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, bending down to take off my socks wasn't to my stomach's liking."

"Oh, Christopher – I'm sorry you're feeling so ill! May I help you with the pyjamas?" she offered.

"No, thank you – I think I'll manage. Just a moment, please." He closed the door.

Liesl looked down at her own feet. She still wore her silk stockings, and they certainly weren't warm enough. "Christopher?" she called. "I'm going into my bedroom to get my slippers. I'll be back in a minute!"

Arriving in her room, she quickly undressed, slipped into her pyjamas and dressing gown, put her slippers on, and ran back to find her husband sitting on the side of his bed, fumbling with the buttons of his pyjamas.

"Let me, please!" Liesl kneeled down and started to close the buttons. It felt almost familiar – she had often enough helped younger siblings dress. Yet at the same time she was aware that she wasn't dealing with a child, but a man – and though her experience with male bodies was rather limited, she nevertheless registered that her husband had a very handsome one. His fair skin, though at the moment rather clammy, was smooth and covered well-defined, firm muscles. His chest was almost hairless, only around the chocolate brown nipples were a few soft, blond hairs. Yet on the right side of his chest Liesl discovered a nasty, deep scar.

"Huh – what's that?" she asked, tapping with her finger against the old wound.

"Oh, that – one of my souvenirs from India. First I caught malaria and then two bullets," he replied, sounding almost casual.

"What were you doing in India?" Liesl had the last button closed and looked up at him. "I didn't know diplomats lived so dangerously."

"I wasn't in India as a diplomat. I was there as a soldier," Christopher replied.

"You were a soldier?"

"Of course." Now he sounded almost a bit insulted. "What kind of a man do you think I am? One who sits cosily in an office while others risk their lives out there in the war? I would serve too if the Army still wanted me. Only they don't – malaria and having lost a piece of one's lung makes one unfit for active duty. And if I'm to do a desk job, I think I can contribute more at the Embassy than I could counting knickers in an Army depot." With a lopsided grin he added, "Perhaps I should wear a uniform from time to time to prevent people thinking me a coward."

"I never thought you were a coward!" Liesl protested, but inwardly she had to admit that she, an officer's daughter, had wondered why her husband, a healthy – as she had thought then – strong man of forty-two wasn't defending his country.

Now he chuckled. "But in uniform I would have to salute your father. I'm only a major."

"Major?" Liesl didn't know the Army's ranks. "Is that something like a captain?"

"Not nearly so high. In the Navy I'd be a lieutenant commander." Christopher was climbing into bed now. "Sorry, I'm rather cold."

"Of course, lie down! Do you think your stomach has calmed down now?" Liesl asked.

He had obviously found the hot water bottles. "Elisabeth, you're a real darling! Thanks for the warm bed!" he smiled at her. "However, as far as the stomach is concerned, it's calm for the moment, but will probably start up again in an hour or two."

Liesl stood up. "Then I'll get you the bucket. I'll fill it halfway with water and we'll place it next to the bed; then you won't need to go into the bathroom next time."

"Thank you, Elisabeth. You're very kind, but you really mustn't bother. You're certainly tired and you need your rest. Just go to bed – I'll make it through the night on my own," he said.

Liesl sighed, went into the bathroom and filled the bucket with water. Coming back she placed it next to her husband on the floor and then pushed one of the chairs closer to the bed. "In this condition I certainly won't leave you alone," she announced.

"Elisabeth, you can't spend the night in a chair! You're pregnant and your baby needs sleep," he protested.

"Baby and I will survive. And it's a nice, cosy chair."

"My, my – stubbornness obviously runs in the von Trapp family. Like father, like daughter," he sighed.

"Yes, my lord." Liesl confirmed with a smile.

"Well, then – if I can't get you to go to your bed, I insist that you join me in mine." He patted on the free space at his left. "My bed certainly is big enough for two people."

Liesl couldn't help thinking of Dame Solveig and blushed. Christopher noticed it, but didn't know the real reason. Almost angry, he said: "Apart from me certainly not being in any condition to assault a woman, you should know by now that I don't want what isn't offered to me willingly and with joy."

Liesl blushed even deeper. She had just caught herself thinking about him as a lover. The way he had kissed Dame Solveig had looked quite passionate. And he certainly knew how to handle a woman. Besides, he was nice to look at, smelled wonderful, and his body felt … no, she wouldn't think about how it had felt to be in his arms while dancing. "Sorry," she stammered and rose up. Stepping around the bed, she slipped out of her dressing gown. "I didn't think you …" She stopped herself, searching for words, feeling suddenly very shy. "I never slept with a man," she whispered.

"Huh?" He turned around and looked at her.

Liesl avoided his gaze. Slipping under the blanket, she closed her eyes. "Your brother … I mean … it was my first time … and he left me afterwards," she uttered quietly.

"He did?" Christopher scowled. Suddenly his teeth started to clutter again and his body trembled. "Bloody sickness!" he cursed.

"Can I help you somehow?" Liesl hated to see him suffering.

"No, thanks!" He gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles in a futile attempt to stop the shaking. "It will be over soon."

After a few minutes he really relaxed, breathed deeply and looked awkwardly at Liesl. "It really isn't a nice sight."

"Christopher, will it get better soon?" Liesl inquired.

"Well," he hesitated. "Actually it will get worse first. Tomorrow, in the afternoon, I expect I'll develop a fever and it will be a rather unpleasant night – high fever and perhaps even a few muscle cramps. And the next day I'll have a headache and feel like I've been trampled by a herd of elephants." He shuddered again.

"And you really don't need a doctor?" Liesl asked anxiously.

"He'll come tomorrow. The Ambassador will see to it," Christopher replied.

"He knows?"

"Of course he does. We've been working together for three years."

"And how often do you have an attack of malaria?" Liesl wanted to know.

"Last year it got me twice, but before that I was spared for almost eighteen months," he explained. "With malaria one never knows. I met a colonel who'd been in India too. He once went seventeen years without a bout of it, but then had three in one year."

"Poor Christopher!" Liesl looked at him.

"One learns to live with it. You know, it's a case of 'what can't be cured, must endured.'"

"Don't you want to sleep now? You look utterly exhausted."

Christopher turned and switched off the light on his nightstand. "You should sleep, Elisabeth. You really need rest."

"And what about you?" She rolled onto her side and braced her head on her hand. In the soft light of the fire she could make out his profile with the high forehead, the patrician nose and the energetic chin.

"I'll close my eyes too," he simply answered.

"But you won't be able to sleep?"

"Probably not – but don't worry. As I said: It's not the first time." He reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly. "Besides I've got nicer company than last time. You know, Yates would never lie down with me andwarm my bed."

"Would you want him to?" Liesl laughed.

"No. He doesn't exactly suit my idea of an enjoyable bed companion – and I'm afraid that goes the other way 'round too. He certainly likes sleeping with cook better."

"He does?" Liesl had never even thought about Yates having something like a private life.

"They've been engaged for centuries," Christopher smiled. "But now you should really try to sleep. Good night, Elisabeth – and thanks for being here!"

To be continued


	20. Chapter 20

Amor vincit omnia

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter **__**20: The Conspiracy**_

May 1943

Maria breathed deeply and smiled at the elder secretary who had stood up, coming towards her. "My name is Maria von Trapp. I'm here to see Lord Fenswick."

"Oh yes. Unfortunately his lordship isn't back from the White House yet, but he asked me to ask you to be so kind as to wait for him. We're expecting him back any minute."

"No problem. I'll wait." Maria offered.

"If you would please follow me? His lordship asked me to lead you to his office." The secretary opened one of the big double doors for Maria and showed her into a stately room where she offered her a chair in front of the fireplace. "Would you like tea or coffee, ma'am?"

"A coffee would be nice, thank you." Maria sat down and looked around while the secretary left.

The office looked official, but nevertheless comfortable. One wall was covered with well-stocked bookshelves. On another, behind a big desk, hung a painting of a thin, serious-looking man in uniform. Maria needed a moment to recognize him as his Majesty, King George VI of the United Kingdom. He was flanked by two flags. On the right was the Union Jack. The second one was blue with an old embroidery that read "Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense_"._

The desk in front of the flags and the painting was very neat. There was a vase with a white lilac on one corner, two telephones on the other, next to those a leather map, in the middle a silver goblet that held a few pens and, the only personal thing, a photograph. Maria was rather surprised to see her daughter smiling out of the silver frame – though Christopher and Liesl certainly had grown closer to each other in the last months, she wouldn't have thought he would display a picture of his wife on his desk. On the other hand Liesl – in the picture very elegant with her hair up and three strings of pearls around her neck – certainly was someone a man could show off. And perhaps having a picture of one's wife at one's desk was what a proper English gentleman was supposed to do?

Maria didn't know, but she had by now learned one thing about her son-in-law: he was nothing if not thorough. He had decided to protect his family's honour by marrying the girl his brother had impregnated and he was obviously firmly determined to give no one cause to wonder about his relationship with his young wife. In public he played the role of a loving husband to perfection. If Maria hadn't known from her many talks with Liesl that the couple still only shared a roof and sometimes a table, but never a bed, she would probably have started to believe that the two loved each other.

Society in Washington certainly did. Every time Maria had to attend a social function she met at least two ladies who couldn't stop swooning about what an attractive and sweet couple Liesl and her lord made and how wonderful it was to see how devoted she was to her husband and how much he loved her. And every time Georg heard this, Maria could be sure that he would brood and scowl afterwards for at least one hour.

The thought of her husband made her sigh. As much and as dearly as she loved him, his stubbornness could be infuriating! During the first weeks after Liesl's wedding she had thought he would come around on his own sooner or later and at the Embassy party she had even hoped he would finally forgive his daughter. However, at the party they had argued again and since then the situation had become even worse. Georg had first firmly refused to accept Liesl's invitation to dinner at her house, which had let to a row remarkable even in the history of the hot-tempered von Trapps. Maria had become so furious at her "mulish, arrogant, hypocrite" of a husband that she had kicked him out of their bedroom for an entire week.

Then, at his most charming, he had apologized to her with a bouquet of red roses. Of course she had forgiven him – she was never able to resist him when he showed the dimples in his cheeks.

Only two days later he had told her that he was terribly sorry, but he wouldn't be able to attend Liesl's dinner because just on that day he would be out of town for an important conference in Boston – and wasn't it a pity how duty so often hindered him from being with his nearest and dearest?

Maria had felt like throttling him, but the problem was that she couldn't blame only him for the rift between him and Liesl. Liesl had used the last weeks to prove that she was, indeed, truly and utterly his daughter. When she had learned that he wasn't coming to dinner, she had only said, "Well, if he doesn't want to see me – I won't force him to." Since then she had displayed the same stubbornness as he did.

She even didn't refer to him as "Father" anymore, but said "the Admiral" if she mentioned him at all – which she mostly tried to avoid.

It was maddening, but Maria couldn't even scold Liesl about that – not when Georg only talked about his daughter as "Lady Fenswick." And reminding him that "Lady Fenswick" would make him a grandfather soon didn't help. It only made him huff, "You don't expect me to forget and forgive everything at the first look at my grandchild? May I remind you whose child this is and how it was conceived?"

As angry as Maria was about Georg and Liesl, she knew that both were hurt and suffering. He missed his eldest daughter dreadfully and still felt as though he had failed her, while Liesl often enough looked as if she had cried through half the night.

Maria knew now that the two wouldn't manage on their own. They needed help – and that was why she sat in Lord Fenswick's office now, for the first time in the five years of her marriage acting behind her husband's back and knowing that he surely wouldn't approve of her speaking with her son-in-law. Therefore she had made her appointment at the Embassy on a day when Georg wasn't in Washington. She even wore a big hat – it wouldn't do if someone from the Admiralty saw her enter the Embassy and told Georg about it. Still, she absolutely didn't like hiding something from Georg. She had always been honest with him, even when it meant they might argue. Furthermore, she had always accepted him as the head of the family and therefore even supported his decisions when she actually disagreed with them. But now she couldn't do so anymore. She couldn't stand by, watching how her husband and her daughter made themselves unhappy only because they were too pigheaded and too proud to talk to each other.

That was why she had come to see her son-in-law. She counted on him as an ally, though she had only met him four times. Yet the third time – what did the Americans say? – "Third time's the charm."

The first time, when Liesl had brought him home, Maria had been too confused and too shocked to notice more than a tall figure, a strong-willed face, and that he was a gentleman. Then, at the ball – the second time she had met him – she had learned that he was in a way like her husband. Like Georg, Christopher Fenswick was a proud and cultivated man with a strong sense of honour and duty. Like Georg, Christopher Fenswick radiated self-confidence and had a commanding presence. And like Georg, he was prone to arrogance – only Georg's tendency toward that had always been tempered by his charm and the humour that flashed in his eyes.

With Christopher Fenswick, Maria wasn't so sure. Of course, the night of the Embassy ball, he had been all smiles and charm and very kind to her. But nevertheless Maria had found him inscrutable and almost intimidating.

And there had been something else Maria had found irritating about her son-in-law. She had been outspoken and honest all her life. Of course, she was well-mannered enough to smile and to talk politely even to people she couldn't stand, nevertheless everyone who was close to her always knew exactly what Maria thought and how she felt.

With Lord Fenswick, probably no one, not even his Ambassador who obviously was fond of his second-in-command, seemed to know. His polite mask looked impenetrable and he was obviously a very talented actor. Knowing the truth behind his marriage arrangement, Maria found it not only amazing, but also confusing how perfectly he played the loving husband. Considered this act, she couldn't help musing how he really felt about her. And though she wasn't prone to feeling inferior to people – with the noble Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge one couldn't know what he really thought about the Baroness who had once been a poor governess.

However, four days after the party in the Embassy Maria had met the lord again. She had worried about Liesl, from whom she hadn't heard since the party, and, having gone for a shopping trip in the city, she had spontaneously decided to visit her daughter. Liesl had been happy to see her mother and had invited her for tea – in her husband's study because the salon and the living room were being renovated.

A footman had just served tea when the door opened again and Lord Fenswick, for once not in a three-piece-suit, but grey flannel trousers, a blue turtleneck sweater and a grey tweed jacket, had entered. "Yates just told me that the Baroness has come for a visit. I wanted to say hello and," he had smiled almost a bit shyly, "I hoped you'd perhaps invite me to join you for tea."

While he had bent down to kiss Maria's hand, Liesl had looked up at him. "Are you sure getting up was a good idea, Christopher?" she had asked.

"I am!" he had answered. "At least for two or three hours – one really can't sleep all day." Looking at Maria he had explained: "I was a bit unwell over the last few days and now Elisabeth is clucking over me."

Five minutes later – until then they had talked about the party – he had excused himself for a moment and Liesl had used his absence to explain to Maria that he hadn't been "a bit unwell" but had suffered from a bout of malaria. "It was rather horrible," Liesl had told her. "All night after the party he was shivering and throwing up. The next day it got even worse. He had a high fever and even though the doctor gave him an injection and I tried to cool him down with leg compresses and ice packs, it got so bad that he started to hallucinate – obviously rather terrifying visions. He was afraid of the ceiling falling down on him and saw ugly faces on the walls. And then, in the middle of the night, he was sweating so badly that we had to change his bedclothes twice. Yesterday, he was in bed with a terrible headache all day. He says he feels better now, but his stomach obviously is still a bit queasy and he can't read without getting a headache. He wanted to go to work today all the same, but at breakfast he got a message from the Ambassador." She had grinned. "I read it to him – it was an order to stay at home until Monday."

One minute later Lord Fenswick had returned and they had taken tea together. Although he hadn't mentioned his sickness, Maria had registered – with joy – that Liesl's nursing him through his illness had obviously changed something in the couple's relationship. They had been smiling more frequently at each other, they had talked animatedly and with more ease, and once he had even teased Liesl.

Since then, they had obviously been developing a friendship. Liesl was now referring to him as "Christopher" – and she mentioned him often when talking with Maria. She had even found it necessary to tell her mother that Christopher had been a military officer "and he would certainly serve if it weren't for his malaria and having lost a piece of his lung." Maria had dutifully given this information to Georg, knowing that Liesl had told it to her exactly for that reason.

Liesl had also told her that her husband now spent at least a little time with her when he came home at night. "He works very long hours and, you know, he has to attend social gatherings and conferences in the evenings three or four times a week. And often enough the poor man doesn't even get a proper dinner. So Yates prepares sandwiches for Christopher. When he arrives home and sees the light on in my room, he comes up with his plate." She had laughed then. "That's why I keep a bottle with whiskey, soda water and a tumbler in my room now. Christopher doesn't drink much, but sometimes he likes a glass after a long day. And," she had sounded rather proud, "he obviously finds it relaxing to talk to me before going to bed. Of course, he never speaks about his work – a lot of it is pretty hush-hush. But we talk about politics in general – he knows so much about it and is good at explaining it – and music and, of course, history. You know, Mother, Christopher actually is a professor of history, specialising in the Middle Ages. He taught at Oxford and hopes he can go back there after the war. But he doesn't sound like a professor at all, though he is really interesting to listen to. I've started to read some history books he recommended to me – it's fascinating and so nice that I have someone to talk it over with and to ask questions."

Maria was glad about this development – and at the "family dinner" Liesl had invited her and the children to, Christopher Fenswick had finally won Maria's heart. She had worried a bit before how he would deal with his wife's eight younger siblings – and then learned with delight that her son-in-law was a natural with children. He had charmed Louisa so much she had blushed and for once had acted like a real girl; he had enchanted Brigitta by talking with her about her favourite books; he had won Kurt over when he had taken him on a ride in his sports car and had allowed him to take over the wheel in the garden; he had impressed Stephan with knowledge about Hungary; he had gotten Marta and Gretl to giggle as he had flirted with them; and finally he had even won over Johannes and Barbara as he had galloped through the garden with Johannes on his shoulders and Barbara sitting on his hip.

The next day, Maria, normally not prone to _schadenfreude_, had found a fiendish delight in watching Georg's face at dinner. The children had gone on and on about Christopher – who had insisted them call him by his Christian name because as their "oldest sister's husband he'd become their brother, hadn't he?" – and how much they had enjoyed their visit to his home. And as Louisa and Brigitta finally had started to swoon, explaining that Christopher actually was rather handsome "for a man of his age", their father had looked as if he had just bitten into something very sour.

Light steps pulled Maria out of her reverie. The object of her children's adoration entered the room, once again immaculately dressed in a blue suit with beige vest, beige shirt and a blue and red striped tie. As always Maria found it amazing how fleet-footed and graceful the broad-shouldered man was. In this he reminded her of his late brother, only that the smooth movements had made Finlay look – at least in Maria's opinion – almost a bit effeminate while with his older brother the feline grace pronounced his masculinity. Maria knew that probably not many women would join her in this opinion, but she actually found Christopher the more attractive of the two brothers. Of course, Finlay had been the prettier one with his perfectly shaped nose and the smooth, still-a-bit-boyish face. Christopher, with his hawk-like nose, the slightly too big mouth, the long energetic chin and the already-creased forehead certainly no one would call "pretty". He wasn't even as handsome as Maria's husband, but she nevertheless found him attractive. His bright, blue eyes and the hair which lay around his head like a golden helmet, his beautiful, versatile hands, the well-built, tall body and the dark, musical voice made him a very male, very interesting man.

"Baroness!" He was bending over her hand. "I'm sorry for the delay. I was stuck in heavy traffic – you know how Washington sometimes is. But they gave you tea, didn't they?"

"Of course – I was served your wonderful English tea and have been sitting here very comfortably," Maria smiled at him, "I really didn't mind the three minutes to myself. Actually it was nice to enjoy the peaceful silence here."

"Peaceful silence in my office?" He looked at the phones on his desk. "I'd like to get some of it too for once!"

A servant came with a cup, dish and a fresh pot of tea on a silver tray, bowing. "Ma'am, my lord …"

"Thank you, Hemings. The Baroness and I will serve ourselves." After the footman had left, Christopher looked at Maria. "How are you, Baroness?"

"I'm fine, but what about you?" She scrutinized him. "You're a bit pale, Christopher."

"Too much work, too little time," he replied with a sigh. "Besides I'm worried about Elisabeth. Luckily she's over the morning sickness now, but her feet are swollen and she's always tired."

"That's quite normal for a pregnant woman," Maria tried to console him, feeling touched by his concern.

"Well, I don't know much about that," he admitted. "I never thought I'd become a father one day. However, here's what really worries me: Elisabeth is depressed. She doesn't want to show it, but yesterday when I came home I found her crying, and it wasn't the first time." He stood and walked to the window, looking over at the Admiralty. "I know, I oughtn't to, but sometimes I'm quite angry at your husband, Baroness," he said with his back to her. "I'm well aware how shocked and disappointed he was about his daughter's affair with a married man. Believe me, I wasn't happy about Elisabeth's pregnancy either and if my brother were still alive, I would give him a good piece of my mind. But for heaven's sake, Baroness: Elisabeth hasn't killed anyone. She did what thousand of girls have done before, only she had the bad luck of getting pregnant the first time. And that is, to put it bluntly, something my brother is more to blame for than Elisabeth. Finlay was the experienced one, he should have shown more responsibility."

Maria sighed. "Your brother's recklessness is one thing. But my husband and, to be honest, I too would have expected more consideration from our daughter."

"But can't your husband at least see that Elisabeth has shown a great deal of responsibility since then?" Christopher turned around. "She did everything she could to avoid a scandal that wouldn't have only tarnished her reputation, but the Admiral's too. And hasn't she been punished enough? She lost the man she loved, can't even grieve properly for him, and is stuck with a husband she doesn't love and who's definitely too old for her. What's to become of her youth? Other girls her age are out, dancing and flirting and enjoying themselves while Elisabeth sits in a stuffy house with stuffy servants and a stuffy husband who only takes her out to stuffy events. And in the coming months she won't even get this distraction because of her pregnancy. Can't the Admiral see that? Is he really so cold-hearted as to not consider how unhappy and miserable his daughter is?" Christopher was standing now behind his chair, his hands on its back, the knuckles white from the force with which he gripped it.

Maria was surprised by this outburst. She wouldn't have thought the disciplined diplomat would be willing to show so much temper. But as little as she liked hearing her husband accused like that – she rejoiced that Christopher obviously cared so much about Liesl. Inhaling deeply, she said: "You know I was only one year older than Liesl is now when I married a widower with seven children and fled to America with him."

"Yes, Baroness," he sat down again, stretching his long legs. "However, there's a difference: You chose to marry your husband because you were in love with him. And as cruel as he is behaving towards his daughter, he obviously cares about you." He shook his head. "I shouldn't talk like that about your private life. Your marriage certainly is no business of mine. However, your daughter is – and she's unhappy!"

There was no one else from whom Maria would have accepted such an attack on Georg, and even in Christopher's case she needed to calm herself down before she could answer. "Christopher, I understand that you care about Liesl. The situation is hard for her – but it's also terrible for her father. He does care – he loves Liesl! That's why he is suffering too."

"He's got a rather odd way to show his fatherly love!" Christopher snorted.

"Let's be honest, Christopher: Liesl isn't very accommodating either. She's hurt her father badly …"

"She apologized! What more does he expect? Should she dress in sackcloth ashes before appearing in front of him next time?" he asked heatedly.

Slowly Maria shook her head. "She didn't apologize for what he feels so hurt about – her lack of trust. She knew he was coming home soon. Why didn't she talk to him before she ran off with you?"

For a moment Christopher studied her face and then sighed. "Well, if the Admiral wants someone to blame for that, he should try me. It was I who advised Elisabeth not to tell her parents what had happened."

"You did? Why?" Maria didn't understand.

"Elisabeth came to me immediately after she'd learned about the child. She wanted to contact my brother; afterwards she intended to talk to you. Now, we couldn't get my brother, but I advised Elisabeth not to tell anyone about her condition, especially not you."

"Why not?" Maria felt betrayed.

"I trust you're as little familiar with American military law as your daughter, so I'll explain: Adultery is viewed as conduct unbecoming an officer. If your husband learned about a case of adultery committed by an officer under his command – and around this time he was about to become Admiral of the submarine fleet , so my brother would have been an officer under his command – duty demands that he court-martial the culprit."

"Oh!" Maria put her hand over her mouth. "I didn't know that."

"Your husband should know," Christopher said. "Even if we had managed to get Finlay a quick divorce and he could have married Elisabeth – they couldn't have told your husband when the child was conceived. Or do you think he would have enjoyed court-martialing the father of his grandchild?"

"Certainly not – and it would have broken Liesl's heart," Maria whispered in shock. "But after your brother's death – why didn't Liesl come home then?"

"Instead of doing something as horrible as marrying me?" Christopher once again stood up and went back to the window. "I didn't know the Admiral then, but his reputation as an honourable, honest man is known. Do you believe he would have approved of our charade? Straight-forward and always true to his principles as he is, he would probably have demanded that Elisabeth stand up to what she's done, no matter what the cost."

Maria nodded. "Yes, I think that would have been his way. However, he would have stood up for Liesl too."

Christopher turned once again. "No doubt about that. However, I'm not as noble and straightforward as your husband; I'm a kind of opportunist. I thought the prize for this kind of honesty too high: Elisabeth's reputation and career ruined; your husband and your entire family becoming the butt of town gossip; my brother's memory tainted; my sister-in-law publicly humiliated – with that, all of us could probably have dealt. Yet there's one thing I didn't want to live with," he breathed deeply and came back to Maria, sitting down again and pouring himself another cup of tea. "The child! It didn't ask to be fathered by my brother. It's not responsible for the ugly situation it would have been born into. What would the child have answered when asked about his father? That he is a bastard, sired by a married man? What would he have said when someone called his mother something unpleasant because she had a child out of wedlock? I'm certainly not what a child wishes for in a father, but at least I'm able to give him an honourable name, a home, and my protection against such things."

Now he was on his feet again, pacing about the room. "And you know what, Baroness von Trapp? Your husband may doubt my honour for the lies I'm now living with, but in this case he can, as far as I'm concerned, take his oh-so-noble principles and go to hell with them!" He'd raised his voice and his eyes were blazing. "If it weren't for Elisabeth still loving the dogmatist you're married to, I wouldn't give a sugar-coated damn about his opinion of her or me. Who is he to judge us?"

For a moment he stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard. Then he came back to Maria. "I'm sorry – I forgot myself. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

Maria breathed deeply and tried to smile. "Christopher, I wish you'd tell my husband these things."

"All of that?" There was a hint of humour in his eyes, but only for a second. "I don't think a shouting match between her father and me would help to brighten Elisabeth's mood."

"No, it probably wouldn't," Maria admitted. "But it would perhaps move her father. I won't deny he's rather stubborn, but you underestimate him when you think him a mere stickler to principles. As serious as he takes his values – he loves his children. They mean the world to him and he'd go through hell in bare feet to protect them. I'm sure that if he could for once see things from your perspective he'd reconsider. He would forgive Liesl – I actually think he's already waiting for her giving him a chance to!"

"That means she would need to apologize to him about her silence," Christopher sat down and emptied his cup. "Hmm – I think I could persuade her to."

"You're a diplomat. You're certainly good at persuading people," Maria smiled. She hadn't liked how Christopher had spoken about Georg, but she couldn't deny that he had reason to think badly about her husband. And in a way she was relieved he had told her why Liesl had never talked to her. Although she had forgiven her, it had bothered her a lot.

"Your daughter is special," Christopher replied. "In matters of stubbornness she can outdo an entire herd of mules." He laughed. "Baroness, I'm probably about to head into my first marital argument."

"Believe me: There's no happy marriage without an argument now and then," Maria said with a smile. "My husband and I had known each other hardly more than a day when we were already shouting at each other. Since then we've been happily married, but we still battle it out at least once a month," Maria told him cheerfully.

"Is that the recipe for a happy marriage? Battle things out at least once a month?" Christopher asked, sounding amused.

"Well, Liesl has inherited her father's temper. And you, if you forgive me for saying so, aren't exactly what one imagines of a typical Englishman with a stiff upper lip."

"No, certainly not." Christopher inhaled deeply. "Baroness …" he stumbled about the word and looked a bit sheepishly at Maria. "When we're talking between us – couldn't I call you 'Maria'? It really sounds formal to call you Baroness, you know."

"No problem with me," Maria smiled at him.

"Wonderful! I think I'd like to talk to your husband. And Elisabeth should probably do so too."

"That's why I've come to see you!" Maria said. "I want you to spend next Sunday with us. Come for lunch, let's have a nice afternoon together, and, when the weather is nice, a barbecue in the garden for dinner. It will give you and Liesl a chance to talk to my husband …"

"Ah? And," now Christopher was grinning, "how do you intend to keep him at home? Do you think your sons would help you tie him to his desk?"

"It won't be necessary," Maria cocked her head. "I don't plan to give him a chance to find an excuse. I won't tell him beforehand."

"Oh?" Christopher laughed. "Are you going to give me a crash course in marital battles? I'm pretty sure his delight over spending a Sunday with me will be rather limited. Come to think of it: My wife probably won't jump for joy at the prospect either. Considering how she acted when she learned about the party at the Embassy …"

"… I'd recommend my tactic to you," Maria finished the line for him. "Don't tell her too early."

"Hmm – I need to tell her that I'd like to spend the day with her," he obviously was thinking aloud. "I normally don't – I mostly work. So I need to mention it so that she won't make other plans. But you're right – I mustn't tell her where I'm going to take her." He laughed. "Maria, you're more experienced in such matters, so please tell me: Where does one keep one's head after it's been bitten off by one's partner?"

"I'd say that on Sunday we'll use our heads for some bowling in the garden!" Maria replied. "Then Liesl and her father can talk about cunning spouses – that's something they have in common, isn't it?"

* * *

"Don 't wake me, darling!" Georg grumbled. "I'm having such a wonderful dream: I'm in my bed and a beautiful woman who fortunately happens to be my lawfully wedded wife has undressed me and is kissing my chest. And there's no child hammering at the door or wailing because he wants his diaper changed."

"You're wrong, my love. Your wife hasn't undressed you – yet – but only opened your shirt." Maria kissed his chest once again and let her hand wander down over his belly – still too thin for her liking – to the knot which held his pyjama trousers up. Opening it, she stroked with one finger along his morning erection.

"Hmm!" he purred. "I do love this dream!" With the back of his hand he touched his cheek. "Too bad – it isn't perfect. If it were I'd be shaved and could kiss my wife without worry about scraping her skin."

"Don't doubt your dream, Georg!" Maria kissed his cheek. "Your wife has just put some cream on her face and therefore she thinks she can, for once, deal with an unshaven husband." She searched for his mouth, kissing him deeply while snuggling against him.

After a moment he broke the kiss and looked at her. "What have you done to our children, Baroness?" he demanded to know. "Did you chain them to the cellar wall?"

"I thought about that, but the rattling of their chains and their moaning is always so distracting," Maria chuckled. "So I've sent them to church – except Stephan, that is. He got some money to buy himself some ice cream – and on the way to the ice cream parlour he's giving his little brother Phillip some fresh air."

"And you're missing mass to be frivolous with me? Maria, I'm shocked!" Georg's eyes were sparkling with mischief and he turned her around, bending down to kiss her breast.

As always it made a shiver of pleasure run through Maria's body. Cradling his head against her, she said: "I went to mass at seven o'clock. I wanted to get a sweet hour in with my husband, you know." For a moment she felt something like a bad conscience. But no, she hadn't planned to seduce him in order to soften him. Even without the lunch guests she was expecting, she would have wanted to be close to him. For two long weeks they hadn't found a chance to make love. First Georg had been out of town for almost the entire week and then Barbara had caught a cold. But now they were together and the children were, for once, not there. And for heaven's sake, she hadn't sentenced him to spend an afternoon with his arch enemy, but to an attempt to reconcile with his daughter. It wasn't as if she'd work against him, just the opposite! She had invited Liesl and Christopher to help Georg out because obviously neither he nor Liesl were able to solve their problem on their own anymore. And therefore she didn't need to feel bad about her Georg but could simply enjoy making love to him.

* * *

Christopher Fenswick pressed down on the accelerator of his sports car and steered it around the corner to the long road that led out of the city and to the farmhouse his parents-in-law had bought. Out of the corner of his eye he looked over at his young wife who sat next to him. She had obviously realized now where he was heading and had become very tense.

Knowing her a bit already, he patiently waited for the outburst which certainly was to come, steeling himself for it. Five miles down the road it happened. Elisabeth turned her head towards him and asked, her voice rather cold: "Do you really think that's a good idea, Christopher?"

"Your Mother invited us and yes, I think it a good idea," he replied calmly.

"My mother?" Liesl seemed to relax. "That means the Admiral isn't at home?"

"Even Admirals aren't on duty on Sundays," Christopher replied. "Your father," he pronounced the word, "is supposed to be at home today."

"How wonderful!" Elisabeth snorted. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she proceeded: "It will be a lunch about as nice and cosy as the one Don Juan shared with the stone commander!"

Christopher shook his head. "Come on, Elisabeth! Your Father and I aren't exactly bosom buddies, but even I don't think he's a gargoyle. Besides," he breathed deeply, "I expect you to apologize to him. It's time."

"Why should I?" Elisabeth sounded like a defiant child. "I did apologize and he didn't react to it."

"You didn't apologize for not talking to him before our wedding," he explained patiently. "Besides, he's your father and despite him being an old pedant, you owe him respect."

"Sometimes you sound rather pedantic too!" Elisabeth sulked.

"It's called being a gentleman," Christopher corrected her.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. "When you do it, it's called being a gentleman and when my father does it, it's called pedantic? Interesting!"

"Aren't conversations with me always interesting?" Christopher replied in an attempt to lighten the tone.

Elisabeth fell silent and once again she looked defiant. For the next three minutes she studied the trees along the road. "I don't think I want to apologize to the Admiral," she stated then. "If he hasn't gotten before now why I didn't come to him, he'll never get it."

"Elisabeth! Don't be so stubborn!" Christopher scolded her. "One of you must take the first step."

"And why is it always me?"

Christopher sighed. "Must I really repeat myself? He's your father and you owe him some respect. Hence, you'll apologize."

"And why are you so keen on that?"

"I'm your husband, if I may remind you!" Christopher was becoming angry.

"Only in name, if I may remind _you_!" Elisabeth promptly shot back.

"Oh, we could change that easily if you wanted. Only with me it would be a longer night than the one you spent with the egotistical whelp who impregnated you!" Christopher had hardly spoken the last word when he realized that he had gone too far. Elisabeth had paled and looked as if she would start crying the next moment.

Cursing himself and his temper – he mostly managed to keep it in check, but when it came to this girl he had married, he found it more and more difficult – he looked out at the road. There was a small driveway just a few yards ahead. Turning onto it, he stopped the car and turned to Liesl who had her eyes fixed on the road. Taking her hand, he pulled it to his mouth and kissed it. "I'm sorry, Elisabeth. That was uncalled for. I hurt you, and I want to apologize."

She nodded, swallowed and finally looked at him. "I didn't know you could get so angry!" she said, her voice very small and almost childlike.

Christopher shrugged his shoulders, feeling very timid. "There aren't many people who're able to infuriate me," he said. "I'm afraid you're starting to get under my skin, Elisabeth."

Once again she swallowed and her eyes looked almost scared. "You mean, I'm getting on your nerves?"

"No. I didn't say that. And I didn't mean it either." He searched for words, once again feeling awkward. "Elisabeth, I'm not used to having someone close to me. And I'm certainly not good at expressing my feelings in words. I mean, I'm an Englishman and it's said that some of us are able to marry and father a dozen children without once telling our wives that we care about them." He was babbling, and Liesl obviously still didn't understand what he really wanted to say. So, clearing his throat, he spit it out: "I've become fond of you. I enjoy your company and I find it rather nice to know that there is someone to talk to when I come home."

Now her face finally brightened. "You know, I like our talks too. I'm always a bit sad when you're so late we don't see each other. Perhaps," she bit her bottom lip, "we could sometimes have breakfast together."

"Oh, you don't really want that!" Christopher shook his head. "I'm not at my best in the morning – even more grumpy and bad-tempered than usual." Seeing her disappointment, he quickly added: "But how about we make at least half of Sunday our time? I mustn't always work the entire weekend. Or what about Saturdays? We could go out on Saturday, do something relaxing like go to the cinema. I can't even remember when I saw last a movie."

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Now Elisabeth was beaming. "You know when I lived in New York, I often went to the cinema. I went there with Julie, my friend – and it was always fun!"

Christopher suddenly felt like a wretch. Why hadn't he thought earlier of taking Elisabeth out now and then? And what about her friends? "Elisabeth, this Julie – she's your brother's girlfriend, isn't she?"

"Yes. Unfortunately she lives in New York – she's attending college there. But you'd like her – she's going to be a historian too," Elisabeth told him.

"Why don't you invite her down for a weekend now and then?" he asked. "Don't you think she'd like to come?"

"Wouldn't you mind? I mean you mostly work at home during the weekend. I thought you wouldn't want to be disturbed by a stranger in the house."

"Well, as long as you and your friend don't practise clogging directly over my study …" he smiled at her.

"The only dance we ever practised was the waltz," Liesl chuckled. "You know, when Julie fell in love with Friedrich she was convinced that an Austrian aristocrat like my brother could never care for a simple American girl who couldn't even waltz. So I taught her on our porch. One evening as we were practising Father came home early and saw us. He thought we lacked verve. To show us how to waltz properly he grabbed Mother – who was pregnant with Barbara at the time and already pretty big – and danced with her in the yard. It looked so funny: He was in his riding gear and Mother wore an apron over her big belly. And Kurt hung out of his window and commented loudly: 'Now they've gone entirely crazy!' while Julie swooned over how cute they were."

For a moment she had obviously forgotten about her trouble and was smiling as she remembered the scene. Christopher reached over and touched her hand. "Keep to that memory, dear. You know, I've come to appreciate your mother very much and the longer I think about her, the more I'm convinced that there must be something about your father I haven't seen yet. A woman like your mother wouldn't love him as much as she does if he were only an old pedant."

To be continued


	21. Chapter 21

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: As always I have to thank my beat Trapper. This time she had really had to do a though job!

_**Chapter **__**21: King of the jungle**_

May 1943

Liesl had felt almost relieved as she managed to swallow the last bite of the chocolate cake Maria had served as a dessert. Although her mother had really outdone herself with cooking Liesl's favourite dishes – vegetable soup, followed by Tafelspitz with horse radish sauce and boiled potatoes plus her famous chocolate cake – Liesl had only picked at her food. Her appetite had been gone as soon as they had arrived in the yard and she had seen her father standing in front of the door, both arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his handsome face. His look had made clear that he would have preferred spending his Sunday removing cobwebs in the stables – a task he normally loathed and never did without complaint.

She would have liked very much to scowl back at him, but there had been Christopher who had lain his hand on her back, whispering in her ear. "Be a good girl, Elisabeth, will you? For me?" And then he had granted her one of his rare boyish smiles and a twinkle. "Pretty please!"

Despite the knot in her stomach she had smiled back. She had still heard his voice in her head: "I've started to care about you."

A few weeks earlier she wouldn't have thought it possible, but she had become fond of him too. It actually had begun when he had fallen sick. First she had looked after him because she had felt obligated. He was her husband, after all, and he had saved her and her child from a horrible scandal. But then, seeing him so vulnerable, she had wanted to help him feel better. His fever then – she had suffered with him and she had become afraid for him. He had twice fallen unconscious and every time Liesl had feared for his life. On that night she had become aware that she, despite his aloofness, had come to trust him as a friend and that she wanted to get to know him better. And now he really was her friend and her ally and it was comforting to have him on her side.

She couldn't help grinning at him. He had eaten himself through lunch with a hearty appetite, had even taken a second helping of the chocolate cake, and was now singing the cook's praise with eloquence and in detail. Yet what amused Liesl was how he carefully avoided calling the mistress of the house by her Christian name though he had mostly done so the last time they had met. But now he said "Baroness" all the time, knowing exactly that his father-in-law wouldn't like hearing Christopher using something more familiar.

However, Christopher was Christopher and a master of bending rules. He showed his father-in-law his respect by addressing his wife properly, but at the same time he flirted with her in a subtle way. And Maria, the same Maria who hadn't even registered once that one of Liesl's classmates had developed a mighty crush on her, the same Maria who hadn't noticed the young officers in Annapolis behaving like mating peacocks when she appeared at the port, flirted back, obviously not immune to the famous Fenswick charm. She giggled, blushed and looked like a girl being courted by the high school's most popular boy.

Liesl didn't mind but was amused. She knew that Maria wasn't even aware that she was flirting. She was so totally and utterly in love with her husband that the idea of looking twice at another man never crossed her mind.

Yet said husband already looked rather grim and was working on his cake as if it were the enemy.

"Darling," Maria addressed Georg. "What shall we do with the afternoon? The weather's so nice – I thought we should go outdoors."

"I intend to," Georg answered. "I need to work the horses."

Louisa opened her mouth to say something, but received a severe look from her father that made her close her mouth and study her cake as if she hoped to find the old riding masters' long lost secrets written on its top.

Georg was smiling at Christopher now – and his smile reminded Liesl at the cat who suddenly had found herself alone with the canary. "Christopher, wouldn't you like to help me with the horses?" He managed to sound totally innocent, but there was a certain glitter to his eyes. "As an Englishman you certainly are a rider, are you not?"

Liesl looked in alarm at Maria. She knew only too well what her father was up to and she certainly didn't want to take her husband home in a box. Stretching, she kicked Christopher's shin under the table to warn him. Only her aim had never been too good. Instead of Christopher she hit her father's leg and promptly got scolded. "Elisabeth, I actually thought I'd taught you years ago not to fidget under the table!"

"Sorry, Father!" Liesl tried telepathy now, concentrating on her husband. Why didn't he look at her?

Yet Christopher seemed only interested in the crumbs on his plate. He collected them with nerve-robbing deliberateness, chewed, swallowed and finally raised his head to turn to Georg. "Well, sir, back in England I did a bit of horseback riding. I think it would be nice to try it again. Only I'm afraid I'm not properly dressed today, sir."

Liesl let the breath she was holding out in relief. Trust Christopher to see through her father's scheme and to find a way out! Even Georg couldn't expect his son-in-law to ruin a pair of perfectly fine flannel trousers by riding!

Tomcat Georg looked as if he had now swallowed the canary and found it very delicious. "Oh, that's no problem. You're a bit taller than me and you've got – if you'll forgive me saying so – a bit more around the middle, but I have a pair of Jodhpurs that are a bit too wide for me. They'll suit you nicely. And you're wearing boots, aren't you?"

At last Maria had caught Liesl's gaze. "But Georg, what about Lord Fenswick's jacket and shirt? They'll be ruined – and I don't think he could wear anything of yours. I think he's got a bit broader shoulders than you."

"Oh, don't you worry, Baroness," Christopher smiled. "The weather is so pleasant and the Admiral hopefully won't mind seeing me in shirtsleeves, will you, Admiral? My shirt can be easily washed."

"I can lend you a sweater," Georg offered. "We'll certainly find one that's big enough."

"Well, then …" Christopher stood up. "Thank you for the wonderful lunch, Baroness!" He rubbed his hands together, grinning at Georg. "I've actually eaten a bit too much. Your wife's cooking is too delicious! So a nice hack out is just what my digestion needs."

"I'm looking forward to it!" Georg announced and got up too. "Let's go upstairs and change, shall we?" With an all-too-sweet smile at Louisa he added: "Would you be so good as to fetch the boys? And please, change the stirrups on Pluto Bona's saddle. The ones he has aren't long enough for your brother-in-law. Just look for the pair Friedrich always uses." With a cheerful wave he shooed Christopher out of the room, leaving the rest of the family behind.

Louisa was the first to speak. "Liesl, how good is your husband in the saddle?" she asked anxiously.

"Don't ask me!" Liesl sighed. "I really don't know."

"Let's hope he's good! I was studying for an exam last week and father was rather busy too. I did only a bit of dressage with Bony on Friday and yesterday he was out in the meadow all day. Knowing him, I'd say he's as hot as blazes today." She stood up and marched to the door. "I'll give your husband a curb – let's hope he can handle it. It increases his chances of coming back in one piece."

Maria had gotten up and was collecting plates. Liesl took two bowls and followed her to the kitchen. "Mother, you have to do something! I don't want Christopher getting hurt!"

"I think he knows what he's doing," Maria replied. "Besides one should never interfere with a male contest like this one. Our men are just doing the 'who's king of the jungle' thing."

"Only Christopher is at a disadvantage!" Liesl cried. "It's not fair! Father is a pro in the saddle and he knows his horses like the back of his hand while Christopher probably hasn't been on a horse in years! Really, Mother: If Christopher gets hurt, I'll definitely never speak to Father again! He's really overdoing it now!"

Maria turned around and laid a hand on Liesl's shoulder. "Liesl, you should trust your father a bit more. He wouldn't risk your husband getting seriously hurt. If your Christopher falls, your father certainly will see to it that he only hurts his pride."

"I'd rather not have him falling from a horse!" Liesl insisted.

"Don't worry so much, Darling. Your husband is a big boy – he can look after himself!" Maria said.

* * *

Liesl tried to trust in her husband, in Maria, in her father and in his horse, but nevertheless she got more nervous every minute. It had been almost three hours now since Christopher and Georg had disappeared and now she asked Maria for the twentieth time: "Shouldn't they be back now?"

Maria, knitting a little jumper for her first grandchild, patted the chair next to her. "Sit down, Liesl! They won't come back any earlier because you're running holes in the porch!"

"Mother, I really would like to know what Father was thinking!" Liesl nagged. "Don't you worry about them too?"

"No, I don't. I think they need some time on their own to get to know each other better. They have a lot to talk about," Maria answered calmly.

"With Christopher sitting on a horse who is – quoting Louisa – hot as blazes?"

"Come on, Liesl! My knowledge about horses is rather restricted, but even I know that Pluto Bona doesn't run for three hours. He let his steam off long before now," Maria rejoined.

Liesl was still pacing the porch. "I only hope Father really doesn't risk Christopher's neck." She rose on her tiptoes to look over the meadow to the woods behind. Suddenly she saw something white through the trees. "They're coming back!" she cried and stretched over the rail.

The stallions had just come out of the forest, both with their riders on their back, looking rather relaxed, walking with their heads comfortably down. The men were obviously talking and now Liesl saw how Christopher put the reins down and clapped Pluto Bona's neck with both hands. He was now close enough that she could see him smiling – and even from that distance she recognized this one as a genuine, cheerful smile. Turning her attention to her father then, she registered that he looked more relaxed than she had seen him in months. He was even smiling back at Christopher and then said something that made his partner laugh.

"Absolutely undiplomatic, sir, but from the bottom of my heart," Christopher was now so close Liesl could understand him, "Pluto Bona is a marvellous horse and I do admire how well you've educated him. If Lipizzans only were a bit taller, I would probably want one now."

"I actually don't think he's too small for you. He covers you," Georg answered.

"Yes, with this neck and posture he does – and I've even ridden smaller horses. In India I once had an Arabian stallion. Nevertheless I like it better when I can use the spurs without being in danger of drilling them into the back of my knee. Besides I have to admit: As much as I adore your Lipizzans' talent for dressage, I have a fondness for thoroughbreds – probably because I'm English and used to cross country riding. You know, we're not really good in dressage," Christopher explained.

"Oho – I don't think you're bad at it. Would you like to try once? Pluto Bona's just learned the a'tempo changes and does a rather nice piaffe and passage. And Conversano Theokratia does the airs over the earth, except the Levade – but we're working on that," Georg told him.

"Oh my – I think I can still master a'tempo changes, and pi and pa is fine too. But don't ask me for the airs over the earth," Christopher laughed.

"Wouldn't you like to try? The offer stands!" They'd arrived in front of the porch and Georg raised his whip to greet Maria and Liesl.

"Sir, I think you want to see me flying!" Christopher waved at Maria and Liesl. "Nevertheless I feel like taking up your offer. I shall ask my wife when she can do without me for a few hours."

Liesl was so relieved to see him back in one piece she needed to fight against the impulse to run down and to throw herself into his arms. Instead she watched how he dismounted Pluto Bona and petted him again. "Thank you, boy. You're really a pleasure to ride." Looking at Georg, he added: "And I have to thank you too, sir. I have very much enjoyed your wonderful horse. You know I'd almost forgotten how good it feels to ride."

"You should do it more often then." Georg was down from his stallion too and opened the saddle girth. "Let's get the gentlemen back to their meadow."

Maria had risen up. "And how about tea then? You look as if you could do with a bit of refreshment."

"Tea sounds wonderful, Baroness!" Christopher called up before he followed Georg to the stables.

Liesl couldn't help it. Bending to Maria she asked quietly: "Now, who's king of the jungle?"

"The score is even, I'd say." Maria grinned. "In any case I think your husband has just won a bit of your father's respect. He's obviously a good horseman."

"Oh – and that makes for winning father's respect?" Liesl snorted.

"Well," Maria put her knitting aside. "Will you help me in the kitchen?"

"Of course, Mother." Liesl followed her into the house and then into the kitchen, reaching for a tray and putting cups, plates and cutlery on it while Maria filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove.

Liesl shook her head. "I'll never understand father. Christopher marrying me to save us from a scandal didn't impress him. But Christopher on horse back does."

"Oh, in this case I find it's rather simple," Maria said, spooning tea leaves into the pot. "Your Father doesn't suffer cowards gladly and he certainly dislikes bureaucrats. Your husband just showed that he's neither."

"Christopher was an officer and served in India! If he hadn't been injured …" Liesl started to defend her husband.

"I know!" Maria interrupted her with a smile. "And I've told your Father."

"Still, he thought Christopher was a coward?" Liesl shook her head once again.

"I don't think he's considered him a coward ever since he learned that Christopher can't serve anymore," Maria replied calmly. "Although I have to admit, your husband being a civilian while his country is under attack didn't sit well with your father at first – and I don't think you can blame him for that. When he, as a man of almost fifty years and as a father of eleven risks his life in this war, he can expect other men to do their duty as well, can't he?" She put a cake on the tray.

Liesl sighed. "Of course. And even I was kind of relieved when I heard that Christopher isn't a funk."

"See?" Maria poured boiling water in the tea pot. "And as far as the horsemanship is concerned: Must I really explain to you that riding a horse or being with horses means more to your father than a simple sport? It's true: He judges people on how they handle a horse. But he also judges people on how the treat their servants or inferiors. The philosophy behind that is similar: He expects people to show responsibility and a certain degree of 'noblesse oblige' towards beings they're trusted with. And if you want to insult him for that, so be it!" There was a certain edge in Maria's voice. "At least you'd be in accord with your husband in that."

"Christopher insulted father in front of you?" Liesl couldn't believe it.

"Yes!" Maria confirmed.

Liesl looked at her in wonder. She knew how fiercely protective Maria was of her husband. "And you forgave him?"

"Yes. In a way I understand why he thinks so. Besides, who am I to deny a husband the right to worry about his wife and to get angry at someone who hurts her? I think your Christopher cares a lot …"

She was interrupted by Georg entering the kitchen. Kissing Maria's cheek he informed her, "I've sent Lord Fenswick up to our bathroom. He needs to shower."

"Oh, he'll need something fresh to wear then," Maria said and looked at Liesl. "Do you have an idea which of your father's sweaters would suit him? I think he's definitely broader in the shoulders. Or shall we have a look at Friedrich's wardrobe?"

"Why don't we ask Kurt? He's got a few wide shirts," Liesl suggested. "I'll go up and look for one."

"Ahm, Elisabeth?" Georg cleared his throat. ""When you're back I'd like to have a word with you in private. Would you please join me in the study then?"

Liesl wasn't sure what to make of his formality. She would almost rather have him command her. Him ordering her was something she could deal with. Although he had rarely done it in the last few years, all von Trapp children, even the youngest, knew that their Father using a certain tone meant that the answer was either a "yes, sir" or a "no, sir", but certainly not a "But, Father …"

There was something in Liesl that rebelled against his tone. She wasn't a child anymore but a married woman who would be a mother soon! Yet she remembered what Christopher had asked for, swallowed her pride, and answered with a firm "yes, sir."

Running up to the attic where Kurt's room was, she felt a flutter in her stomach. What could her father want from her? Had Christopher told him that he had asked Liesl to apologize?

Liesl didn't like this thought much. It made her feel handled and manipulated. On the other hand she trusted Christopher, knowing that he really wanted her to reconcile with her father. Only, she wasn't sure if she would be happier then. She knew that she couldn't simply forget about all the hurt and – yes, it was still there – the shame. And she was sure her father couldn't either. He would never look at her as he had done before her pregnancy.

And what about the child? Her Father had often teased his offspring by telling them that he expected each of them to provide him with at least six grandchildren because he had always wanted a big family. If she would have gotten pregnant in a real marriage, he would have been head over hells. And certainly his first grandchild would have become his absolute darling. He would have doted over it as he had done with his own children.

She had always looked forward to that. Sometimes, when she had dreamed about her future, she had seen herself sitting in a bed, surrounded by flowers, wearing a beautiful nightgown and proudly presenting her father his first grandchild.

Well, she had also dreamed of walking down an aisle in a white dress on her father's arm. She remembered how she had thought of that while walking in front of Maria through the church in Salzburg. Her father had looked so dashing in his Austrian dress uniform and, looking at him, she had imagined the day when he would lead her through a church and up to the man she would marry.

All those dreams were shattered. There only remained the hope that he wouldn't let her child feel how little he approved of its father. And there was the knowledge that she wouldn't be able to forgive him otherwise. She could bear whatever he did to her, knowing that she had disappointed him greatly. But if he let her child feel his disapproval, he would lose her for good.

* * *

Kurt had a sweater for his brother-in-law. Liesl thanked him and went down to her parent's bathroom. Knocking at the door she called: "Christopher, I have a clean sweater for you."

"Oh, fine!" He opened the door, standing in front of her with a towel around his hips.

"Christopher …" She chewed on her bottom lip and proceeded in a whisper, "Father wants to have a word with me in private."

"Come in!" He grinned at her. "There's nothing you haven't seen before."

"And if I haven't seen a naked man before I should be grateful that I get to look at such a fine specimen now!" Liesl quoted.

"Huh? Who said so?" Christopher turned, showing her his back and using the towel to dry his wet hair.

"You did!" Liesl laughed and turned too to give him some privacy. "Don't you remember? On the second night of your malaria bout I helped you change and Yates got rather fussy about me seeing you in your birthday suit. Then you said that."

"I plead non corpus mentis – I was feverish!" Reaching for his silken boxer shorts he slipped into them, groaning as he did so. "I think I shall sleep in my study tonight. Tomorrow I certainly won't be able to even crawl down a staircase."

"Are you injured?" Liesl asked anxiously.

"No, no. But I'm developing the mother of all muscle aches. Besides I've certainly got a sore sport on my bottom." He grinned at her. "I think you shouldn't let your father wait too long, my dear. And," now he crooked his head, "you'll apologize?"

"Did you announce I would?" Liesl asked.

"No. That's between him and you." Christopher slipped into his socks and shoes.

Liesl watched him and couldn't help asking curiously. "Why don't you put your trousers on first?"

"Oh, that." He grinned. "Just ask your father. I'm pretty sure he does socks and shoes first too." He took the sweater she had brought for him. "Elisabeth, you really should go down to your father!"

"Yes, sir!" She sighed and turned to the door. "Should I perhaps say my prayers first?"

"Elisabeth!" Christopher was laughing and pointed to the door. "Off you go!"

Slowly Liesl walked down the stairs. Maria was on the porch with the children. Liesl could hear their chatter and Phillip's cheerful squeals. She suddenly longed for tea – what would she had given to join Maria and her siblings now! Yet she needed to go to the study.

Breathing deeply, she knocked on the door.

"Come in!"

"Here I am, Father." Why did she feel as if she should stand at attention?

"Close the hatch and have a seat." He pointed to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

Sitting down, Liesl looked at him. He was still in his riding gear: brown boots, beige jodhpurs, linen shirt, blue tie and a beige tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows. Liesl was glad about his casual look – in uniform she always found him a bit intimidating. Coming around to the fireplace, he now placed himself behind the other chair, his fingers drumming on its back. He obviously was nervous too and this discovery made it easier for Liesl to speak.

"Father, I know I've hurt you and …" She needed to breathe deeply, but bravely proceeded, "I'm sorry! I don't lack trust in you, but under given circumstances …" Now she was searching for words, knowing that he usually didn't take what he called "lame excuses" kindly. He had always expected his children to stand up to their wrongdoings "without babbling about it." So, bracing herself, Liesl finished: "I apologize for not talking to you before I married Christopher."

"It seems," he started his reply slowly, "your husband is more aware of American military law than I am." Coming around the chair, he leaned against the mantelpiece. "From his point of view, you hardly could have told me as long as Lieutenant Carson was alive. It would have meant handing the father of your child over for court martial." His eyes hardened. "I think he would have deserved it."

"Too bad he's dead!" Liesl said sarcastically and promptly earned one of her father's very stern looks and a raised eyebrow. However, she wasn't a child anymore and she didn't intend to duck. Instead she braced her shoulders. "Father, I'm sorry for the distress and hurt I caused Mother and you, but I'm certainly not sorry for loving Finlay and having been loved by him."

"Loving someone means a responsibility. On this account you and Lieutenant Carson were lacking," Georg stated and added with a sigh: "I was not responsible for Lieutenant Carson's upbringing, but for yours. So it's probably my fault too."

Liesl swallowed, fighting against tears. "What I am to do now? I'm not proud of what I've done, but I can't change it anymore."

"No, you can't change it anymore," Georg repeated slowly and went over to the little table where he poured himself a glass of soda. "Some water too?" he offered.

"No, Father, thank you." Liesl didn't know what to say now.

"It's actually quite ironic," Georg sounded as if he were speaking more to himself than to Liesl. "You fell in love with the wrong Fenswick – the irresponsible, reckless one. But you married the right one. I only wonder if you are aware of it yet."

"I appreciate my husband and I am grateful to him," Liesl replied stiffly.

"Appreciation and gratefulness – do you think that's enough for a marriage?" Georg asked.

"I don't believe my lord and master wants more." Liesl had tried to sound casual and even a bit flippant but didn't really succeed. She was fighting tears again and her voice almost broke as she proceeded, "He only married me to avoid the scandal."

"Elisabeth …" Georg breathed deeply. "Aren't you aware that the scandal wouldn't have bothered him much? There aren't many people in Washington who know that the American Lieutenant Finlay Carson actually was the half-brother of the English Lord Fenswick. And even if the press would have gotten wind of the fact – who could have blamed Lord Fenswick for what his half-brother had done? Your Lord only got to know his half-brother when Finlay was already 18 years old." He emptied his glass and put it down on the table. "I think your husband really is a gentleman for taking over a responsibility no one could have expected him to make his."

"I know," Liesl said. "And I can assure you that I do respect Christopher very much."

"Good." Georg got up again and walked to the window, looking out at the meadow. "Elisabeth, I have to admit that I find it rather hard to overcome my disappointment in you. I understand – thanks to the talk I had with your husband – that at least a part of your silence towards me was born from your wish to spare me. I also began to believe that Lord Fenswick was right about thinking that your marriage was the best solution." He fell silent, his shoulders tensed and his fingers drumming on the windowsill.

Liesl watched him for a moment that seemed to stretch into an eternity. Slowly she rose up then, feeling suddenly drained and exhausted. She hadn't been aware how much she had hoped for a reconciliation, but now she only wanted to leave this room and this house and to hide herself in a dark corner and cry. "I understand, Father. You don't need to say more. You can't forgive me. Well, I won't bother you any longer."

"Liesl!" He had turned and his voice sounded firm and strict.

"Yes, Father?" She wondered how she was still able to face him.

"You haven't only found yourself a great defender in your husband, but in your mother too. Just a few hours ago she reminded me once again of an important fact: whatever happens, you're my child and I love you. And no," there was a hint of humour in his eyes, "you don't need to tell me that I have an odd way of showing it. That's what I get to hear at least twice a day from your mother. Heavens, this isn't about forgiving anymore, Liesl! I certainly wasn't the father you would have wished for at such a difficult time. It's," now he looked almost awkward, "about forgetting and probably …" the little smile he produced now looked almost shy, "… about learning at last that my baby girl has become an adult woman."

"Father!" Now Liesl couldn't keep her tears back anymore. Swallowing a sob, she looked at him. "Sometimes I do so wish I could still be your baby girl!"

He didn't answer in words but by walking towards her and opening his arms. Liesl ran to him, throwing herself at his chest and burying her head in his shoulder, happily inhaling the familiar smell of horse, leather and lavender soap. "I love you too, Father!"

"I know, Liesl – and somehow we'll make it through. We're a family, after all!"

* * *

Maria felt like singing and dancing. She was sure she would never forget this Sunday, starting from the morning when she and Georg had made love – and no, in their case five years of marriage and three children hadn't dimmed the passion, but made it only more intense – and then a wonderful afternoon. As Georg and Liesl had come out of the house to join Christopher, the children and her on the terrace, she had immediately seen that they had reconciled. Of course it would need more time before the wounds on all sides would be healed, but her daughter and her husband were talking to each other and even now and then smiling.

After tea the "men" in the family – including Johannes who was utterly delighted to have the attention of two grown-ups – went down to the yard where they prepared a camp fire because, so Georg had explained, a proper barbecue needed to be done with a proper fire. For the amount of wood they had collected then Maria had teased Liesl that her father obviously didn't only intend to butcher a calf for the homecoming of his daughter, but an ox – and that he wanted to grill it in one piece.

When the fire had finally caught, Maria and Liesl had learned that not only sailors were good at peeling potatoes. The family had wanted potato salad with their steaks and as Maria had come out to the porch with a big pot of steaming, boiled potatoes it hadn't only been Georg who had reached for a knife, but Christopher too. Liesl had asked him then if he knew how to peel potatoes.

Christopher had raised an eyebrow: "My dear, you're underestimating me." Taking a potato he had proven that he didn't need any instructions. "After six years in a boarding school one knows well how to do that. Our headmaster strongly believed in efficient detentions. Why write stupid lines if a boy could make himself useful in the kitchen? And I wasn't exactly the teacher's pet student, so I landed myself in the kitchen so often that the cook started to think about giving me an apron of my own." He had grinned at Georg. "Let me guess, sir: your method of acquiring your skills with potatoes was pretty similar?"

"What? I was always a model pupil!" Georg had laughed and then confessed. "With me it was the drill sergeant on my first ship. He was good friends with the cook, so whenever one of the cadets had done something wrong, he spent his watch below peeling potatoes. Once I did it for six hours a day for an entire week."

"What had you done, Father?" Louisa had asked.

"Tricked myself through the nautical lessons," Georg grinned. "I found it rather boring to do a complete positions calculation every day. So I always marched up to the bridge before the lesson and asked there for our position and course. After a week the sergeant found me out – and so it was potato peeling for me."

Now the potato salad and the steaks were eaten, the younger children were in bed while Louisa, Kurt and his girlfriend had left for the cinema. The kitchen was cleaned, and so Maria had gotten a chance to sit down on the porch with her husband, Liesl and Christopher. Georg had opened a bottle of French red wine, Liesl and Maria shared a pincher with lemonade – not pink, of course – and everyone seemed content. Georg had even loosened his tie and lain his arm across the back of Maria's chair, now and then touching her neck with one finger and twinkling at her. Liesl and Christopher in the meantime shared the bench and Maria watched with quiet delight how Liesl had, during the last hour, shifted closer to her husband until they almost touched. Besides she couldn't help feeling slightly amused by the sight of her son-in-law. Considering how immaculately dressed he normally was – only one week earlier Georg, seeing a photograph of Christopher in a newspaper, had ironically commented, "Oh, look – Saville Row's poster boy!" – seeing him in a blue- and red-striped sweater that was a tad too tight around his shoulders was funny, though she actually liked him in Kurt's sweater. He looked younger and more approachable.

For a while, they had watched the sun going down in comfortable silence. Now Georg, sipping at his wine, stretched his legs and looked at his son-in-law. "Christopher, I must admit I'm curious about your horsemanship. You're really quite good. Who taught you?"

"Drill Sergeant Clarence McKerry," Christopher answered dryly. "And I can tell you, sir: it wasn't a picnic. Most of his pupils – including me – came to him in the belief that they were already quite good. After a week with him we all felt like worms – and we even moved like it!"

"Drill Sergeant?" Georg raised an eyebrow, then slapped his palm against his forehead. "Of course, I forgot: you were an officer once! Major, wasn't it? Which regiment?"

Now Christopher was grinning. "The Blues."

Maria didn't have the slightest idea what that meant, but Georg obviously knew. Raising his glass, he said, "Honi Soit Qui Mal Y Pense."

"That's embroidered on the flag in your office, isn't it?" Maria remembered.

Christopher nodded. "Yes. The flag is my regiment's and that's its motto: shame on him who thinks this evil."

Georg swallowed his wine. "I admit defeat and beg for forgiveness. Challenging you was rather silly."

"You couldn't know, sir." Christopher was generous. "The only time one gets to see me in uniform is at funerals and weddings."

"I nevertheless should have known. When I met you the first time, you were even wearing your regiment's tie, weren't you?" Georg said.

"I must admit, I'm not very creative when it comes to my ties. I mostly wear the regiment's or my school's tie," Christopher replied.

Maria looked at Liesl who shrugged her shoulders. "Would one of you perhaps explain to the unknowing womenfolk what you're talking about?" she demanded with a smile.

Christopher and Georg exchanged a look. "After you, sir!" Christopher grinned.

"Well, then I'll unbosom my shame," Georg laughed. "With the British being our allies, I actually should be able to recognize the colours of their important regiments – like blue and red for the Royal Horse Guard, called 'The Blues'(1) for short because they – in contrast with the Life Guards whose colour is red – wear blue uniforms. The Blues and the Life Guard together comprise what is called the Household Cavalry – the regiments sharing guard duty for the English king." He looked at Christopher. "Right?"

"Exactly, sir – with one small addition: The Household Cavalry contains three regiments. The third are the Royal Dragoons."

"Hmm – I still don't understand," Liesl said.

"Cavalry, Liesl – your husband is a cavalry officer. Cavalry means soldiers on horseback," Georg explained. "And a naval officer trying to outdo a cavalry officer on horseback – especially one who's served in one of the most famous regiments in the world – truly is a fool." Georg looked a bit sheepish.

"Well, with said naval officer being a former pupil of the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, the retired cavalry officer, who hadn't been in the saddle for at least four years, certainly didn't find it easy to cope," Christopher raised his glass. "To you, Admiral!"

"Christopher, the only person in this household who's allowed to call me by my rank is my wife," Georg said. "In your case I'd prefer my Christian name."

"I feel honoured, Georg." Christopher bowed his head.

Maria actually felt like kissing her husband, but knowing that he wouldn't like such a display of affection in front of his daughter and his son-in-law she smiled at him instead. "Now Liesl and I only need one more explanation: the ties."

"That's easy," Christopher answered. "A member of an English regiment is allowed to wear a tie with the colours of the regiment – in the case of the Blues, blue and red stripes – when in civilian attire. Also, former pupils of public schools may wear a tie in their school's colours. I attended Harrows, so it's blue and silver. And I actually like wearing my school's or regiment's ties because I'm a bit colour blind. With these two ties, I know exactly that they fit most of my suits, so I can't go wrong with them."

"That's actually one of the things I like about wearing a uniform," Georg said. "You never have to bother about matching ties or fashion."

"The secrets of men's clothing!" Maria laughed.

"There's another one I'd like to have revealed," Liesl chuckled. "Father, what items of clothing do you put on first? Trousers or shoes and socks?"

"Socks and shoes!" Maria replied promptly. "It's one of his little quirks I've always wondered about."

"It's one he shares with Christopher," Liesl said.

Maria glanced up at Georg, who for a brief moment furrowed his brow. He obviously wondered too how Liesl knew about her husband's dressing habits. Was there more to their relationship than she let on?

"I'd really like to know why you do that!" Maria asked.

"Oh, it's rather simple: because we don't want to spoil our creases," Christopher explained. "In a mess dress they're expected to be very sharp. Sitting down to put on one's socks and shoes would spoil them."

"How complicated!" Liesl said. "And here I thought nothing would be trickier than a sleeveless evening gown!"

"You never tried a nun's habit!" Maria sighed. "I should be thankful that your father spared me from fighting the white wimple every morning."

"Oho – was that the reason you married me?" Georg laid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a bit closer. "And here I thought you liked me!"

Maria couldn't resist any longer. She was so happy to see him in such a good mood, she kissed his cheek. "You know, Georg, sometimes I do. One gets used to you after a while."

"Well, on that note, I hope Elisabeth will get used to me soon because I intend to take her home now. It's already after baby's bedtime," Christopher said.

"And bedtime always should be strictly observed – no exceptions!" Maria laughed and stood up. "For more lessons on how to foster the discipline without which a household cannot be properly run, just ask your father-in-law!"

to be continued

(1) Yes, you're right: Nowadays the regiment is called "The Blues and Royals," because in 1969 the Royal Horse Guard (the Blues) and the Royal Dragoons became one regiment – the Blues and Royals. Before that, it was only "The Blues" and with our story being set in 1943, Christopher was an officer in the Blues.


	22. Chapter 22

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: My wonderful beta Trapper was once again doing a great and quick job. However, after she worked on the chapter I messed around in it what means: If you find any mistakes in here, there all mine!

_**Chapter **__**22: The next generation**_

Decembre 1944

Maria bent over her sleeping youngest and tucked the blanket more snugly around his shoulders. Phillip was, even in sleep, a lively child and therefore always pushed his covers away the same way his father did. Kissing his forehead, Maria turned around and walked over to the master bedroom where her husband stood in front of the bed, fumbling with the knot of his tie. He had only come back from a meeting one hour earlier looking drained and grumpy.

Maria, already in her nightshirt and dressing gown, stepped over to him and reached for his tie. "Let me help you, darling."

Georg grumbled and closed his eyes for a moment. "As long as you don't set any hopes by it, sweetheart," he said. "I'm dog tired and my back is killing me."

Maria had his tie undone and was now working at the button of his collar. Looking up into his face she replied lightly, "And who was the culprit who annoyed you so much?"

"Actually," Georg was working on his cuffs, "it was your dear son-in-law."

"My son-in-law?" Maria undid the next button. "Until now I had considered Christopher to be married to _our_ daughter, which makes him your son-in-law too. But what did he do this time to get you so grumpy?"

Georg slipped out of his trousers and stepped away to hang them over a chair. With his back to Maria he replied, "I believed once that diplomats were the people who solved problems and straightened out troubles. But Fenswick is a specialist in _producing_ trouble! For him it isn't enough that we deliver supplies to England – he expects us to protect the ships taking the stuff over to them too!" He pulled one of his black socks off and threw it angrily over to the chair. "The cheek of the man! I showed him where our boats are stationed, but even then he refused to understand that I can't stretch my fleet any thinner. He even told me that if we would finally get the coast guard off their – I quote – 'lazy arses' we could easily spare two submarines to accompany another convoy to England." Georg was done with his second sock and stood up, pushing his briefs down.

Maria handed him his pyjama trousers. "Isn't it his obligation to advocate English interests?" she asked quietly.

"Oh yes!" Georg snorted, slipping into his pyjamas. "Only he doesn't fight fair! He threatened – more or less – that he wouldn't be as generous with information in future if we don't bend to his wishes. He knows fully that we're rather dependent on them – our intelligence is obviously sitting around on its lazy arse too while the English probably even have a spy under Herrn Hitler's bed!" He shook his head angrily. "Plus: you should have heard the Sec Nav (1) roar when I told him that Fenswick knows about our problems with the coast guard!"

Maria was in bed now. Fluffing her pillow she asked, "Isn't he supposed to know?"

"Haha!" Georg laughed bitterly. "The Sec Nav would probably prefer Hitler knowing about it over the Brits! You know, the Germans are only our enemies, while the Brits are our allies."

Maria looked a bit puzzled. "I'm not supposed to understand that, am I? It sounds like high politics again."

"I'd rather call it the depths of politics", Georg replied, lying down next to her. "The Nazis gloating over our weakness is something the messieurs at the Pentagon and the White House never actually see. But with our English friends and brothers, we deal on a daily basis – and in the case of your dear Christopher, it's certainly no pleasure!"

Maria sighed inwardly. Over the last year she had come to like her son-in-law very much and she was pretty sure that if Georg would only give Christopher Fenswick a fair chance, he would grow to like him too. But Georg had to work with him - and Georg defending American interests while Christopher, of course, advocated the English case didn't do their personal relationship any good. Maria thought this rather sad. The better she had gotten to know Liesl's husband, the more aware she had become that Georg and he were actually birds of the same feather. But at the moment it nevertheless looked as if there was only one point they agreed on: their adoration of Allegra.

The thought of her made Maria smile and, turning around and laying her head on Georg's shoulder, she asked lightly, "How's Allegra?"

It worked. Georg smiled too and pulled Maria a bit closer. "Her father thinks her the eighth world wonder."

"And her grandfather?"

"Knows that she's a little miracle." Georg laughed. Turning to his side and looking into her eyes he added, "Though there's something that irritates me about Allegra, you know."

A kiss landed on the tip of Maria's nose while Georg's hand marauded down her back to the hem of her nightgown, shoving the fabric aside. Maria lifted herself to give her husband better access and smiled. "Aren't you tired, my love?"

"I'm tired, but obviously not too tired!" Georg grinned. "But back to Allegra: before I left the Embassy, his lordship asked me to give his regards to Allegra's beautiful grandmother."

Maria actually felt like purring. Georg's hand was now tenderly stroking up her thigh while he had bent his head to nip at the side of her neck. Combing with spread fingers through his short hair, she asked playfully, "Him thinking me beautiful irritates you?"

Georg kissed her, but then stood up and went to the door. "You are beautiful – no doubt about that." He turned the key and, coming back to the bed, pulled his pyjamas over his head. The fabric muffled his voice as he proceeded: "Only it's not for his lordship to state that. He's supposed to look at his own wife. However," he was done with his pyjamas, hanging them over the bed's footboard and sitting down, showing Maria his broad shoulders and his strong back, "the grandmother thing got me thinking."

Maria was out of her nightgown too and was now on her knees behind her husband. Bending down she kissed his spine. One of the many things she admired about her marriage was how comfortable Georg and she had become with each other. Yet the intimacy between them, the fact that a look, a touch, a kiss served well enough as an invitation for more to come, had neither slaked their passion nor had it made for taking each other's desire and lust for granted. As much as they enjoyed that they came together without many words – and that certainly was important for their relationship because the demands of the children didn't leave them much private time – their love life had never been in danger of becoming routine.

Just the other week Georg had dragged Maria away from home for a dinner in a little restaurant and a romantic moonlit stroll through the woods around their house. Coming home then, he had carried her up the stairs and had spoiled her with kisses and touches until she had begged him to come into her at last.

Georg had named this little intermezzo "payback" – two weeks before Maria had managed to get the children out of their hair for a Saturday evening and had used the free time to provide her overworked and tense husband with a long, erotic massage.

However, now they needed neither moonlight nor a massage. Sinking down on the bed, Georg put his head in Maria's lap and reached for her breasts. Tenderly cupping them, he looked at her with a boyish grin. "You know, on my way to the Pentagon after the conference I suddenly found myself thinking about grandmothers – and wondered if it can be legal for a grandmother to have such lovely breasts and to be so desirable that the grandfather belonging to her finds it hard to concentrate on work because the thought of her is enough to make him salivate."

"You did, Admiral?" Now Maria was really purring. To learn that thinking of her alone was still enough to distract her disciplined husband gave her a rush of power and womanly pride. Stroking down over his belly to his impressive erection, she closed her hand around it and stroked it.

"Mmm!" Georg closed his eyes and moaned. "I did," he admitted then. "So much that I found my trousers rather restricting when I arrived at the Pentagon." He rolled around and pulled Maria into his arms. "Sweetest, most desirable of grandmothers – let me make love to you!"

* * *

Sniffing at the cup of herbal tea she had just prepared for herself, Liesl climbed up the stairs from the kitchen to the hall. It was almost two o'clock in the morning. The servants had long before gone to bed and the fire in the hall she insisted on having during the day had burned out. Liesl pulled her shoulders back with a shudder. She had actually done rather well refurbishing the house, she thought. Only the hall had resisted to her attempts of making it more friendly. It was still rather gloomy and, in spite of the fire during the daytime, mostly chilly.

However, Liesl didn't really mind anymore. The rest of the house, especially the second floor where, next to her bedroom, the nursery had been established, was home now.

She had been in the nursery before she had gone down to the kitchen, once again bending over the crib and marvelling at the miracle that slept there: Allegra Maria Carson-Fenswick, her baby daughter.

In Liesl's eyes she was sheer perfection, starting at her tiny, pink toes and over her cute, little tummy up to the fine, black hair on her head.

Liesl had been prepared to love her child. She had always liked babies and every one of her younger siblings had been special and precious to her. Nevertheless she was still surprised by the amount of love she felt for her daughter. During the birth, suffering through an agony of pain and only kept going by Maria's comfort and orders, she had thought that afterwards she would only want to sleep for at least an entire week. But then they had lain the infant in her arms and the little one had opened her eyes and looked at Liesl.

Of course, as an experienced older sister Liesl had known that the baby wasn't yet able to recognize what it saw, but it hadn't mattered at that moment. She had looked in her daughter's eyes and at that very moment it had clicked. All fatigue was gone, the pain had been forgotten. With a rush of energy she had felt as if all of her, the inner core of her self, was filled to the brim with love for this tiny human being in her arms.

However, there had been something else as she had looked into the eyes of her daughter for the first time: They were azure blue – and had made her think of Christopher. She had needed a moment to realize that Allegra wasn't really Christopher's daughter and that she had probably inherited the blue eyes from Finlay. Or were they the heritage of her grandfather? Anyway, the eyes and the generous mouth reminded her of Christopher and for a moment she had felt almost ashamed because she had become aware that she hardly remembered Finlay's face anymore. He had become a pale shadow and whenever she had tried to think about his features, pictures of another blond, blue-eyed man had appeared in her mind.

Holding her daughter for the first time, she had remembered the Saturday night a few weeks earlier when they had come home from the cinema. Allegra had been very lively that night and so, sitting down on a chair in Christopher's study for a cup of cocoa before going to bed, she had watched how the folds of her dress over her belly moved and had laughed.

"What's the matter, Li?" Christopher had asked. He had started to shorten her name to "Li" only a few days ago and Liesl liked it very much.

"The baby is doing summersaults!" she had announced and laid her hands on her swollen abdomen.

Christopher, going onto his knees, had watched her for a long moment until Liesl had spontaneously taken his hand and put it on her belly. "Here – do you feel that?"

The warmth of his hand – and Liesl had always thought his versatile, soft hands one of his most beautiful features – had gone through her dress, and as she bent down to guide it to the spot where the baby was kicking, she had smelled his already familiar scent: sandalwood, rosemary and something else that was uniquely Christopher.

His touch had caused a prickle in her breasts and a deep longing for his closeness. She had been almost scared and shocked by these feelings. What kind of a woman was she? It was only a few months since Finlay had died, she was pregnant with his child – and lusting after his brother, wishing he would touch her breasts, kiss her, pick her up and carry her to his bed to make love to her. What had he said when she had reminded him once of only being his wife in name? "Well, we could change that easily if you wanted."

What if she wanted it now? What if she pulled him close and sank her hands into his hair as she longed to do? In the light of the fireplace it shone like silk and she remembered how breathtakingly handsome he looked when the golden tresses were slightly tussled. But certainly he wouldn't want to be so close to the woman who was carrying his brother's child – as much as she wished at this moment that it were his.

He looked up at her then, his eyes soft and filled with tenderness. "I can't wait until the baby is here!" he said, stroking her belly once again. "As nice as it is to touch it here, it certainly will feel even better to have it in my arms."

"Christopher, what do you want? A boy or a girl?" she asked.

He got up and poured himself a brandy. Playing with the glass he sat down opposite to her. "That's a tough question, Li. As the eleventh Lord Fenswick I must wish for a son to carry on the name and to look after the estate. You know," for a moment his eyes had become dark and the lines on his forehead deepened, "at the moment I have only one living relative – a distant cousin who certainly would sell Hollbridge to an American magnate and would gamble away the fortune with his mistresses. So Lord Fenswick would like to get a son and heir, while Christopher," he sipped at his glass, "would love to have a daughter, especially if she were as pretty as her mother." He laughed, sounding almost awkward. "Only I don't know if you could trust me with a daughter. I'd probably spoil her to no end and one day when she grew up and came home with a man I'd become even more jealous and grumpy than your father!"

She had known then that he would become a devoted father. And a few weeks later as he held Allegra for the first time, Liesl had been touched to tears by the look in his eyes. He had shown that he certainly didn't mind that she wasn't a boy and that he didn't only intend to give her his name, but his heart too.

By now Liesl sometimes felt even a bit jealous of her daughter. Since her birth, Christopher hadn't spend his nights at his desk anymore, but would come home around six o'clock, racing up to the nursery, always taking two stairs at once. He insisted on bathing Allegra, and he didn't even mind when the baby got him entirely wet; he only laughed.

But that night he hadn't had a chance to be with Allegra. His secretary had called around six o'clock, telling Liesl that his lordship wouldn't come home for dinner and that he didn't want her to wait for him because he would be late. So she had bathed Allegra and gotten her in bed, spending the rest of the night writing letters until she had almost fallen asleep at her desk.

She had gone to bed, but only to wake up again, feeling restless and lonely. Therefore she had gone down for a cup of tea – it usually helped her fall asleep again.

She had already reached the staircase when she heard the soft music. It came out of the blue salon where the grand piano was kept. Someone was playing it. Liesl almost let her cup drop. Who was there? She recognized Bach's Invention in F major – could that mean that Friedrich was visiting? She turned and walked towards the blue salon, but suddenly the music stopped. The player had just hit a wrong key; now he started again. Liesl was sure: the player wasn't Friedrich. Her brother was a professional who wouldn't stumble through his beloved Bach. And now the player was in trouble again, once again hitting a wrong key, stopping, and then starting anew, making the first few lines sound almost furious.

Liesl's curiosity was piqued. Quietly she opened the door and slipped into the room. It was rather dark, only the little lamp over the piano's music stand was on. In its light Liesl saw a blond head over broad shoulders and a white shirt with grey stripes.

Now Christopher failed again, angrily putting the lid of the piano down.

"It was b, Christopher!" Liesl said with a smile and stepped closer. "I didn't know you could play the piano."

Christopher snorted, stood up and slipped into his jacket, which he had hung over a chair. With his back to Liesl he replied, "I can't, as you've just heard. My love for the lady Musica was always rather unrequited. It was Finlay who was loved back."

The bitterness in his voice made Liesl flinch and swallow. "You aren't bad for an amateur," she said cautiously.

"Oh, thank you very much!" he sounded sarcastic. "My brother said so too – he was sometimes rather generous towards us lower mortals."

Liesl swallowed again. They had hardly ever talked about Finlay, but now she thought it was finally necessary. She wanted to know what had stood between her late lover and her husband. "Actually I don't understand," she started slowly. "You have so many talents of your own. You're a brilliant diplomat; your abilities in analysis even impress my sceptical father; you're an acclaimed historian and were one of the youngest professors who ever got a chair at Oxford; you're a great horseman and you were your father's firstborn son, the heir of the title. Why were you so jealous of your younger brother?"

"Well," he walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of brandy, "perhaps I'm simply a vile, mediocre bore who can't stand other people being more talented. Finlay told me so once."

"But I don't think so!" Liesl replied firmly. "Christopher …" She put her cup down at the table, walked over to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Finlay wasn't very nice to you, was he?"

"Actually it wasn't his fault." Christopher sat down and emptied his glass. "It was our father's." He fell silent, studying the empty glass.

"What happened?" Liesl asked quietly.

"He left my mother and me when I was 12 years old," Christopher answered, and with a bitter laugh he added, "Not that he had been around much before that. He'd only married my mother because he was totally broke. Hollbridge was a ruin, the family's fortune long gone. The only things left to my father were his name, his looks and his charm. He used it to get himself one of England's richest heiresses, and while she built up Hollbridge again, he used her money to cheat on her with every chorus girl he could find in London. He didn't mind that my mother cried her eyes out every night and became depressed. And it certainly didn't make it easier for her that," he got up, filled his glass again and gulped the contents down, "he used to spend his summers at Hollbridge. He always made a big house party out of it, bringing all his friends from the city and sometimes even his mistress. They were a cheerful lot, always up to games and fun. And for these few weeks during the summer my father obviously even found it amusing to have a son who adored him. I didn't understand then how deeply it hurt my mother that I forgot all about her as soon as he was around. She was always sad and crying while he was fun – and so I clung to him and was happy when he took me with him to something."

"You were only a child!" Liesl said.

"Yes," Christopher nodded and sat down again. "And children can be rather cruel. However, I learned my lesson. In the summer of my 12th year he didn't come to Hollbridge; instead mother told me that father had filed for divorce because he wanted to marry another woman – a rich and beautiful American. We left Hollbridge and moved in with my grandfather – or better said, Mother moved in with him. Grandfather couldn't stand children and especially not me – I reminded him of my father who he hated. So I was sent to a prep school and then, later, to Harrows. My holidays I mostly spent with friends – my mother was too busy with her welfare projects and other things. Besides I think she wanted to forget all about my father – and I happened to look quite a bit like him."

"You must have been very lonely." Liesl felt like hugging him. She remembered how lonely she had felt after her mother's death, but she at least had had six siblings, a home and a father who – as distant as he had been during that time – loved his children.

"Well, I actually liked it at school. I had friends – and most of them weren't too close to their parents either. The English are pretty good at keeping their nearest and dearest at arm's length," he explained. "The only really uncommon thing about my family situation was the fact that my father loved to show off his new family so much. They were often in England, and one could hardly open a paper around that time without seeing another touching story about the Fenswicks and their happiness and their little prince of a son. It was always especially nice to read about the birthday parties the happy Fenswicks used to throw for their son – they were always big events, even when he was only three years old. And one had to understand that my father, being so busy preparing for his second son's big day, always forgot about my birthday, right? It only was unfortunate that my mother generally forgot too."

"How awful for you!" Liesl felt a tear running down her cheek.

"I survived – as you see." Christopher smiled grimly. "And I was aware that it wasn't Finlay's fault. So I actually was rather happy to take him up when he came to me shortly after his 18th birthday. I was at Oxford at the time, working on my book, and I felt rather lonely. My mother and my grandfather had died, I'd inherited grandfather's fortune and so I could provide for my younger brother who was in trouble with our father. Father had wanted him to join his old regiment, the Royal Dragoons, but Finlay wanted to become a musician. Father had kicked him out and cut off his supplies, therefore Finlay came to me. I liked having him in my house – I'd always wanted a family."

"What went wrong?" Liesl asked.

Christopher shrugged his shoulders. "I think I was overbearing. I felt responsible for him and thought he needed to work harder on his education. I didn't get that his talent was so great that he could miss lessons and party all the time without getting into trouble for it. Besides," he breathed deeply, "the crowd he was running around with wasn't to my liking and I wasn't too happy about his dealings with girls either. I'm sorry to say, Liesl, but my brother – at this time – was quite a womanizer. One night we had a row about that and he told me I was a grouchy old bore who only begrudged him his fun because I was unable to have any myself. It got pretty bad, and in the end I kicked him out. After that, he somehow managed to get back into our father's good graces again and I didn't see him anymore for a few years. We only met again when I came to Washington. He was in trouble with his marriage then and needed help because by then our father was dead – he'd shot himself after he'd gambled away his wife's fortune. And she had married another guy shortly after his death, but Finlay didn't get along with him. So he came to me."

"And you helped him?" Liesl asked, feeling rather bad because she had once shared Finlay's opinion about his brother being an "old bore."

"Of course I did. He was my brother after all. Besides, I really like Wendy – his wife. She's a decent, hard-working girl who deserved better …" he fell silent, shook his head and looked at Liesl. "Sorry."

Liesl wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling chilly. "I never thought much about her," she admitted.

"You weren't the reason for their separation," Christopher said. "And I can assure you, she isn't mad at you. Just the contrary. Wendy knows better than anyone else how charming Finlay could be."

"I sometimes wonder what would have become of him and me," Liesl said thoughtfully. "You know, my father said once that I had fallen in love with the wrong Fenswick but married the right one."

"Oh?" Christopher raised one eyebrow. "Considering that your father would have liked to have Finlay's head on a platter, I don't take that as a real compliment."

Slowly Liesl got up and, standing, she gulped down the cold, bitter herbal tea, wishing she could have something stronger. However, she was still nursing Allegra, therefore tea would have to do. Moving over to the chair where Christopher was sitting, she let herself down on its arm and looked at him. "At least we have become friends, haven't we?" she whispered, suddenly feeling shy and, at the same time, determined.

"At least?" Christopher reached for her hand, pulled it to his mouth and kissed it. "I think that means a lot – at least it does to me." He cleared his throat. "Wanna hear a confession, duckie?" He had tried to sound flippant, but there was a very serious undertone in his voice.

Liesl looked down at his hand. She always liked when he held hers. It almost disappeared in his bigger one and made her feel protected and secure. "Yes, my lord?"

"When I married you, I thought of you as an obligation. I liked that you'd give me a child and, beyond that, I hoped you wouldn't bother me much. But now I've gained much more than an adorable daughter. I've got a beautiful wife who's become a real friend."

Finally Liesl dared to do what she had wanted for weeks. Raising her free hand, she stroked his hair. "You really think I'm beautiful, Christopher?" she asked.

Christopher laid his head back, almost nuzzling into her stroking fingers. "Elisabeth Fenswick, you're in possession of a mirror, aren't you? Have a look in it and it will tell you what happened to you over the last few months. You know, when you came into this house, you were a very pretty girl. But now you've become a real woman – and a ravishing one!"

Liesl gathered all her courage. His hair under her fingers felt wonderful, but she wanted more. Being a mother had made her highly aware of her womanhood and with Christopher around – well, one would probably have to be blind, deaf, and not interested in men at all to overlook the fact that he was a man. And despite being rather inexperienced herself, Liesl was sure that he knew what to do with a woman. The way he moved with almost feline grace; his strong and yet so tender hands; his deep voice that sounded like velvet when he spoke gently to Allegra; the passion he showed when he was talking about something important to him – and yes, she hadn't forgotten how he had kissed Dame Solveig once and how she had melted into him.

Liesl wanted him – she wanted him more than she had ever wanted anyone else. And she was highly aware that he wouldn't make the first move. He had once told her that he would be willing – only if she wanted. It was up to her to show him that she wanted him, and therefore she let herself glide into his lap, laying her arms around his neck. "Christopher?"

Was he surprised? If so it was, at any rate, a nice surprise, because he moved his leg to bring her even closer and laid his arm around her waist. "Hmm?"

Liesl once again breathed deeply and, snuggling against his broad chest, quickly said, "I think I'd like to become something more than your friend."

For a moment he just looked at her and then sighed. "What timing, Li!"

"Oh!" Liesl felt rejected and tried to get up, but he held her down, his free hand stroking across her cheek to her chin, cupping and raising it.

Looking into her eyes, he whispered, "Even after a long, tiresome day like this - who am I to resist such an offer? But," now he hesitated, studying her face as if he were seeing her for the very first time, "are you really sure, Elisabeth?"

Liesl nodded, afraid her voice would fail her. Bending forward she kissed the left corner of his generous mouth, amazed at how soft his lips felt. For a moment he held still, only closing his eyes, but then his lips opened and he kissed her back gently. His hand went into her hair, untying the braid she had made for the night while his tongue played with her lips, exploring them tenderly.

Suddenly he broke the kiss and smiled at her. "Dearest Li, I'm afraid I'm too old for necking on the sofa." Snaking his arm under her knees and the other around her back, he stood up, lifting her with him. "I'd like to proceed with this upstairs."

Liesl loved the feel of his arms around her and rested her head back against his shoulder. "Am I not too heavy for you? I gained some weight with the baby."

"Just in the right places!" Christopher assured her, walking up the stairs. Looking at the closed door of the nursery he bent down and whispered, "I think for tonight Allegra will have to settle for the nanny if she wakes up. I want her mother all to myself."

For a moment Liesl felt nervous. What had she gotten herself in for? Of course, she wanted to be close to Christopher. She had longed for him for weeks, even before Allegra had been born. But he was an experienced man and she – there had only been the one, rather awkward night with Finlay and she had been so tense and scared then! It had felt like something to bear and the best she could say about it was that Finlay hadn't hurt her much. However, she was sure that just "getting through" it wouldn't be enough to please her husband.

What if she wasn't able to satisfy him? The last woman he had slept with had probably been Dame Solveig. She certainly knew everything there was to know about pleasing a man. Would Christopher think of her? Would he compare them? Would he perhaps even wish to have _her_ in his bed instead of his inexperienced, clumsy wife?

Besides, Dame Solveig was double the woman Liesl was. Of course, since she was nursing her breasts had grown, but compared to Dame Solveig's lush figure Liesl was still bony and too thin.

But now they had arrived in Christopher's bedroom and he set her down in front of his bed. Bending down he kissed her forehead and smiled at her. "You know, there's an advantage in taking one's own wife to bed: there's no need to be ashamed about the mess on one's bed." He bent over it and made short shrift with the books, files and news paper piled on the empty right side by gathering them and putting them on the table in front of the fireplace. "So – and now I'd like have a shower." Kissing her forehead, he smiled down at her. "I'll be right back, darling. Don't run away!"

While he disappeared into the bathroom, Liesl looked down at herself. The long, flannel nightshirt she was wearing was warm and practical, but it certainly wasn't sexy. For a few seconds Liesl considered running to her bedroom and changing into something else, but then she shook her head. Since she had become Lady Fenswick her wardrobe had improved significantly because she had understood that Christopher expected her to keep up a certain appearance. Her closet was well stocked now with suits, silken shirts, lovely dresses and elegant robes, but she had never thought of getting herself a piece of nightwear that could be called "seductive." But Christopher had called her "beautiful," hadn't he?

With one quick movement she was out of her nightshirt and in the bed on the right side, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The linen felt cold on her skin and she found herself rather lost in the huge bed. But now the sound of the water running in the bathroom stopped and she heard Christopher quietly whistling.

Five minutes later the door of the bathroom opened and Christopher came out, wearing only blue pyjama trousers. He walked to the fireplace in his bare feet, put a few logs on the fire and then turned to the door, closing it and switching off the light. Coming to the bed, he smiled at Liesl. "How nice to have a warmed bed for once!" He slipped in on the left side, rolled over to Liesl and lifted her covers slightly. "May I?"

"Of course." Liesl cursed herself for sounding so afraid. Why had she gotten herself into this situation? She would only destroy what they had built up! Everything had been so nice; they had been great friends – and what would become of them now?

He stretched out his arm, "Come here, Li."

Actually Liesl would have rather jumped out of the bed and run to her own chambers to hide. But she had started what certainly would become an awkward thing, and she wouldn't quit now. She was a von Trapp after all, wasn't she? And her father was a hero and she must have inherited at least a bit of his courage. It would help her to make it through – somehow. And, well, she trusted Christopher, didn't she? He would never hurt her.

Swallowing, she turned and laid her head on his shoulder, blushing deeply. Christopher's arm closed around her, pulling her closer, his warm hand on her naked back. For a moment he simply held her and then bent his head, kissing her forehead. "Li, it's still how I've told you: I only want to take what's given to me willingly and with joy. As much as I want to make love to you, it's still your decision if and when we do it."

Liesl heard herself giggle nervously. "Don't you think it's a bit late for chickening out?"

"No, Elisabeth." He tenderly stroked a loose strand of hair out of her face. "It will never be too late."

"Christopher?" Liesl rose up on her elbow and looked down at his face. In the dim light of the fire his eyes appeared almost black, the long eyelashes throwing a shadow on his high cheekbones. Had she really once thought him less attractive than his brother? Now he looked beautiful to her – beautiful and familiar.

"Hmm?"

"Would you really like to make love to me?" she asked.

"Oh, Elisabeth!" He was laughing and once again kissed her forehead. "You're my wife, aren't you? And … well …," he seemed to search for words, suddenly looking awkward, "I'm fond of you. Besides I'm a red-blooded, more or less healthy man and you're a beautiful woman. You don't need to lay naked in my bed and in my arms for me to wish to make love to you. Mostly it's enough when you come down the stairs in the evening, smiling at me. And last week at the ball at the Russian Embassy – my dear wife, if you stroke my neck once more while dancing with me, you mustn't wonder when I pull you into the next dark corner and ravish you!"

"Well – you look very handsome in tails! And you do make such a nice little sound when I touch the back of your neck", Liesl smiled and snuggled a bit closer to him.

"Handsome isn't exactly a word I would connect to myself," Christopher smiled back, kissing the tip of her nose. "But if you think so …"

"I do! I really, really do!" Liesl actually wanted to say more, but now Christopher had turned, lain on his side and bent over her, stroking a few stray hairs back and whispered:

"You are so lovely!"

The way he looked at her – it made for her throat becoming tight. There was so much tenderness in his eyes and they were as blue as the lake in Aigen and she felt as if she had been thrown into it as his mouth came down onto hers. Never before had a kiss felt like that, not with Rolfe and not with Finlay. It was as if Christopher had found the key to a part of herself she hadn't even known she possessed. As his tongue sneaked between her lips and met hers, a flame seemed to spring to life and its heat made her entire body feel alive and wanting. It burned all anxiousness and fear away; it made Liesl forget Rolfe's sloppy kisses and Finlay's impatient fumbling and left only a longing for the man in her arms behind. And he seemed to know how much she needed him now, his expert hand gliding down over her head to her shoulders and her arms while his lips followed the path, kissing and nibbling and lightly sucking at the base of her neck.

Liesl hadn't even known how sensitive her skin was and how much a little suckling could arouse her. She wanted more, she needed more, and her hand wandered down over his shoulder to his smooth chest, her fingertips finding his flat nipple and cautiously tugging at it, feeling how it became alive and hard.

"Uh!" Christopher obviously liked what she was doing. He lifted his head and for a few seconds he looked at her with an almost amazed and puzzled expression. But then his hand found her breast, cupping and kneading it softly and Liesl closed her eyes and gave herself over to the pleasure of his touch, knowing that she had finally found what she had always been searching for.

To be continued

(1) Sec Nav Secretary of the Navy, Georg's superior


	23. Chapter 23

Amor vincit omnia

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter 23: **__**Hic habitat felicitas**_

Early summer 1945

Admiral Charles Forrester tossed his half-smoked cigar into the fireplace, folded his hands over his round belly and sighed. "I couldn't say I'd like that."

Georg who had leaned on the mantelpiece, straightened his shoulders under the blue uniform and looked at his superior and friend. "Charles, I know that the timing is awful, but …"

Charles Forrester interrupted him with an impatient wave of the hand. "Georg, I've always known that you – despite your citizenship and the uniform you're wearing – are first and foremost an Austrian patriot. And if I were in your shoes I'd probably have decided as you did. My only problemis: Who the hell will take over from you?"

Georg sat down in the chair next to his boss. "Soller," he replied briefly.

"He isn't as good as you!"

"Charles, you wanted me once for my experience in the Adriatic Sea. Now we're done there," Georg said. "It's the Pacific now – and there Soller knows his way around better than I ever will. Just trust him a bit – he deserves it!"

"Hrmph!" Charles Forrester rose up, got himself another cigar and lighted it. "I don't think he's admiral material."

Georg smiled. "I never thought of myself as material for a politician, but that's what I'm to become now, isn't it?"

Charles sighed and looked at the fire. "I'm going to miss you, Georg."

"I'll certainly miss you too, Charles. However, I think we'll keep in contact. I actually count on you looking after my family while I'm away."

"How long do you think they'll remain here before they'll join you?"

Georg shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have the slightest idea. It depends entirely on the circumstances at home. However, considering that Maria already wants to go with me, I don't think I could keep her away for too long."

"Especially not when your eldest daughter is going to Austria too," the old Admiral said, drawing at his cigar.

"Liesl? What is Liesl doing in Austria?" Georg looked at his superior.

"Latest news from our neighbours across the street: the ambassador is wailing and gnashing his teeth because his government decided that the unique talents of his minister are wasted here and could be set to better use by putting him back in a uniform and sending him to Vienna to coordinate dealings among his government, ours, the Russians, the French and whatever is to develop as the new Austria's side. You know, your son-in-law speaks around six or seven foreign languages, among them Russian."

"And he wants to take his family with him?" For the moment Georg wasn't much interested in his son-in-law's political career but more in his private life. "I don't think Vienna is, at the moment, a good place for women and children."

"England isn't either," Charles Forrester said. "The Tommies are having trouble providing for their people. Of course, it will get easier now that we can send convoys with supplies without fearing that half of them will be sunk by the Germans. However, it will take some time before England will be out of the woods again."

"It would be best if Liesl and Allegra stayed with Maria and the children," Georg thought aloud.

Charles laughed. "Tell Fenswick, not me! But considered how smitten he is with his young wife …"

"Smitten?" Georg shook his head. "I don't think so. You know, my son-in-law is very British and a rather cold fish." Even with Charles Forrester who had become a close friend of the von Trapp family, Georg didn't want to talk about the true nature of Liesl's marriage.

However, Charles laughed. "Georg, I'm afraid you don't know his lordship as well as I do – since the other day, at least." He blew a perfect ring of smoke in the air and grinned.

"What do you mean to say with that?" Georg inquired of him.

Charles suddenly looked like the famous Cheshire cat. "Last week on Friday I worked late – so late that I sent my driver home and decided to drive myself," he started, obviously enjoying himself to the fullest. "Around midnight I went down to the garage. There were only two cars besides mine left there: the Ambassador's Rolls Royce and Lord Fenswick's sport car. And lo and behold, who was leaning against the sports car, passionately kissing his wife? Your son-in-law, the cold fish! And you know, your daughter and he were so occupied with each other that they didn't even stop kissing as I drove away! I'd say you should prepare for another grandchild soon, Georg!"

For a moment Georg felt tempted to ask if Charles was sure that the woman Christopher had been kissing had really been Liesl. Of course, since Allegra's birth Liesl and Christopher had grown closer to each other. And how could it have been otherwise with Christopher doting so over the girl? Even Georg felt touched when he saw his formerly so detached son-in-law cuddle the baby and play with her. Nevertheless he couldn't imagine that Liesl would have come so close to him now. He wasn't her type, was he? Too old, too cold, too unapproachable, too aloof! Even the idea of Liesl kissing her lord made Georg shudder. Wouldn't the poor child get chilblains by coming too close to this husband of hers?

"Georg?" Charles asked. "When will you be going?"

"Oh, sorry." Georg hadn't been listening. "What did you ask?"

Charles grinned. "You'll get used to your daughters kissing their husbands, Georg. I know how I felt the first time – I actually wanted to keelhaul the guy! How could he dare to put his greedy claws on my baby girl? Only my baby girl enjoyed it – and my wife forbade me to tell him off because, so she told me, I wouldn't have gotten three daughters if her father hadn't overcome his dislike of me putting _my_ claws on his daughter. And you know, your Liesl and her lord actually are a handsome couple."

"Oh no, Charles – please not you too! I get this all the time!" Georg sighed. "Everyone is so delighted about the two of them."

"Only you aren't?"

"Would you be? Besides Fenswick being a rather arrogant prick he's too old for my Liesl!" Georg snorted.

"Says the man who's married to a wife 20 years his junior!" Now Charles Forrester was really amused. "And as far as I know, your Maria wasn't older than your daughter at her wedding. And isn't our lord a bit younger than you were? As far as I know, Liesl and he are only 18 years apart."

"Maria and me – that was different!" Georg said.

"Of course it was!" Charles Forrester laughed out loud. "It always is, Georg. I said so too when Pittypat once reminded me what we'd done when we were young. On the other hand though: it was actually my memory of that time that made me want to kick every boy who came close to one of my daughters!"

"Does one get used to it by the second daughter?" Georg asked.

Charles Forrester shook his head and cheerfully answered: "Nope. I think you'll even feel it when Allegra starts dating."

"Wonderful!" Georg sighed. "I should have insisted on only having sons."

"Too late, Georg! But back to your next appointment: When will you leave for Salzburg?"

"In two days," Georg replied. "Tomorrow in the morning I'm to clean up my desk – and," he was smiling now, "I think you really should consider Soller as my successor. It would make it easier if I could hand the reins over to him directly because in the afternoon I won't be there anymore. I'll have to go to the White House for a briefing."

"And to get your second star!" Charles smiled. "You deserve it, Georg."

"I don't know. However, I'll need it for dealing with the army. They won't be too happy about getting a Navy man as the governor of Salzburg."

"Certainly not!" Charles laughed. "And considering how far Salzburg is from the sea, it's actually rather funny that we'll have an Admiral in charge there. Do you know yet where you'll be staying? You have a house in Salzburg, don't you?"

Georg breathed deeply. "They offered to reclaim it for me. However, I don't think I'm going to stay there. For one thing, it's a bit too far from the city. As far as I know the roads aren't good enough that I'd want to drive from Aigen into the city and back every day. Besides," he snorted, once again feeling furious, "my house will need a very thorough cleaning. Himmler (1) used it when he was in Salzburg."

"Uh! You'll need a exterminator and perhaps an exorcist!" Charles suggested.

"I don't even want to think about what the Nazis have done in and with my house!" Georg said.

* * *

Veronica von Galen sat down on the stone bench in what once had been a beautiful garden. For a moment she allowed herself to lean back against the wall and to close her eyes. She couldn't remember ever feeling so exhausted. Every bone in her old body seemed only to long for rest, every fibre seemed only to want some peace and a moment to herself out here in the sun, only a few minutes with no one asking her for advice, with no one expecting her to decide on something, with no one who needed to be ordered, persuaded, comforted, consoled or convinced to do something.

She was too old for this! She couldn't bear the responsibility for so many people; she couldn't manage to provide for all of them anymore. She was 77 years old – an age at which she actually _should_ have sat in the sun, enjoying retirement. However, she knew that in a few minutes she would get up again and go back to where she was needed. It was the cross God had made her bear and who was she to question his will? She had spent all her life trusting in him, as hard as it had sometimes been. As Salzburg had been bombed, as people had lost their homes, as children had cried through the nights and the stale smell of blood and destruction had hung over the city for days, she had found it incredibly hard to pray "Thy will be done on earth." But she had gone through that and now she would go through whatever He demanded of her. Out there were children who hadn't only lost their homes, but had never known peace and safety and who didn't only need shelter and food, but guidance, love and hope.

"Aunt Veronica?"

A shadow fell across her and Veronica von Galen looked up, smiling at the woman who stood in front of her. For a moment she allowed herself to study the small face under the blonde hair, still beautiful and delicate despite a few wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. And despite the simple, black cotton dress, the flat shoes and woollen stockings, the younger woman still radiated self-confidence and aplomb.

"You're back, my child." Veronica von Galen patted the bench next to her. "Don't you want to sit down for a moment?"

"Thank you, Aunt Veronica." The younger woman sat down, looked at the elder and sighed. "I've got milk, white bread, some meat, fruit and chocolate for the children," she said and sighed again. "But I've also got bad news. The new military governor has arrived. Yesterday he took over from Colonel Mason and …" She laughed wearily. "It seems the new broom intends to sweep everything very clean. The depot already got an order from him saying – so Sergeant Jenkins told me – that 'the unauthorized giving out of supplies has to be stopped immediately.' That means we can't get anything from the Americans – at least not at the moment. And what will happen then, only God and this governor know."

For a moment Veronica von Galen closed her eyes again. Three weeks ago the Americans had taken over Salzburg – peacefully and without a fight. Just two days later the woman at Veronica's side had gone to the then American commander Colonel Mason and had told him about the situation in the Abbey. He had sent her to the depot and since then they had at least been able to feed the children properly.

Smiling tiredly, Veronica von Galen said, "We'll need to talk then – first to God and then to the new commander."

Elsa von Rechberg shook her head, "Well, the talk with God I'd best leave to you – you're line to him is probably better than mine. But as far as the commander is concerned, I already tried to charm him. Only I couldn't even get in to see him. He's too busy and I was told that I should come again in the next week or so to get an appointment with him. And from what I've heard about him at the headquarters our chances of him supporting us aren't too good. The man is an Austrian refugee …"

"Isn't that good?" Veronica wondered. "He should understand us better than the Americans, shouldn't he?"

Elsa sighed. "I'm afraid he won't. You know most of the refugees are Jews."

"And you think that as such he doesn't think well of Catholics?"

Elsa looked up at the mountains. "Considering what the Nazis did to the Jews, one mustn't wonder about a lot of them hating us now. Who could blame them?"

Slowly Veronica von Galen rose and straightened her wimple. "Nevertheless we must try to talk to him. We have the children to think of …"

"Yes." Elsa got up too. "When will you go into the city?"

With a sigh Veronica looked up at the church's tower. "There's no better time than now, is there? I'll go to the chapel for a talk with our Lord – and afterwards we'll go."

* * *

In former times Veronica von Galen, Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey, had loved the way down from her cloister into the city of Salzburg. Although she had grown up in Germany, she had come to love Salzburg as her home and she had always marvelled at the beauty of its churches, castles, old townhouses, small yards and silent alleys. For her it had always felt as if the sound of Mozart's spirit, the smile of his music, still rang through the city, making its inhabitants display pride and happiness. Or had it been the other way round? Had the spirit of Salzburg made Mozart become what he had been? It was possible because there obviously had always been something special about this place. Veronica remembered that even the Romans had thought so – once a Roman mosaic had been found in Salzburg on which was inscribed: "Hic habitat felicitas, nihil intret mali" (2).

But now, walking down the steps from the Abbey on the first sunny day of June 1945, the old nun felt as if someone had stolen not only Salzburg's beauty, but its spirit. Half of the town lay in ruins, even Mozart's birthplace was half destroyed; the opera house was burnt down; the glorious Cathedral was in shambles, and where once elegant people had gaily strolled through the streets, there were now women in rags, their faces numb with tiredness and starvation, carrying stones and cleaning away the debris.

Veronica was glad that Elsa had taken her arm and supported her. Going through the destroyed city she felt every year of her age. However, the younger woman at her side was a comfort – and in thinking so Veronica felt almost a bit ashamed. It had been a few days before Christmas when Elsa came to Nonnberg. Her house in Vienna had been destroyed, her wealth was gone and her husband, the dashing Major Graf von Rechberg to whom she had only been married for a few days, had been killed in Russia. The once proud Elsa, born Comtesse von Enns, widowed Baronin von Schraeder, now widowed Gräfin Rechberg, had come for shelter in her aunt's abbey and she had, of course, gotten it. Yet in the first days Veronica had only thought of her as another liability on the already too-long list of people she had to look after. Yet Elsa had quickly shown her aunt that she wasn't a burden, but an asset. She had taken it upon herself to organize food for all the people who had come to the abbey, biking around Salzburg, persuading farmers to sell their milk and corn, making the women in the abbey go out to collect herbs and berries, finding fabric to make clothes for the children. And as the Americans had taken over, Elsa had charmed them to help out with supplies. Once she had been good at organizing parties, now she used her talents and energy to help people – and sometimes Veronica von Galen couldn't help thinking that at least in the case of her niece the war had served to develop something good.

The Americans had set up their headquarters in the same old palace the Nazis had used. Where only a few weeks ago the red flags with the swastika had hung, now the Stars and Stripes swayed in the soft summer wind. The door to the yard was open, jeeps were driving in and out, and a truck had just been unpacked by a few soldiers in khaki.

In front of the door, two tall soldiers with guns stood guard. One of them, a black man with friendly eyes, looked rather curiously at Veronica and her companion and Veronica was sure: if Elsa had come without her, the soldier certainly would have tried to flirt with her.

Smiling up at the tall man Veronica said in a friendly tone, "_Grüß Gott_. I've come to talk to your commanding officer. Do you think you could help us?"

The guard furrowed his brow and looked at his colleague who only shrugged his shoulders. "Well, actually …" The black soldier looked at his watch. "Visiting hours are over."

Veronica only looked at him. During the course of a long life she had learned when to wait patiently.

The soldier seemed to consider, then he turned and opened the door, sticking his head inside: "Jimmy, is the Admiral in?"

A voice answered, but Veronica couldn't make out the words. However, the soldier opened the door for her and pointed to another man in uniform who sat behind a desk. "Jimmy will help you."

"God bless you, my son!" Veronica said and went into the hall, followed by Elsa.

Only "Jimmy" wasn't as friendly as the guard. Looking sceptically at the old nun and her companion, he shoved his chewing gum into the other corner of his mouth and said, sounding rather bored, "Visiting hours are over."

"Yes, so we've heard," Veronica replied. "But don't you think you could make an exception for us? I'm the Reverend Mother of Nonnberg Abbey and …"

She didn't manage to finish her sentence. From somewhere a voice yelled, "Attention! Admiral on board!"

Out of the corner of her eyes Veronica saw a group of men – most of them wearing khaki, but one in dark blue – coming down the stairs. The sergeant behind the desk had jumped up and stood at attention until a dark, severe voice commanded, "As you were."

"Georg!"

Veronica heard Elsa's gasp and turned to her. The younger woman looked as if she had seen a ghost, but suddenly she started to beam and called out, "Georg! It's really you!" She ran towards the men at the foot of the stairs and threw herself into the arms of the one in the blue uniform.

"Elsa! What are you doing here?"

Now Veronica recognized him too. Gray around the temples, his face smaller than she remembered, but still dashingly handsome, Georg von Trapp patted Elsa's back and smiled at Veronica. She registered that he had a lot of gold on his uniform: a broad and a small band around his sleeves, a golden star over it, a golden shoulder board with two stars and an anchor, and golden ornaments on his blue cover.

"You're the Admiral?" Elsa asked.

"Yes, my dear."

"The new military governor of Salzburg?" Elsa still looked as if she couldn't believe it.

"Yes to that too!" Georg replied amused. "Please, a moment!" He looked at the men surrounding him. "It seems my plans have just changed. I'll call you when I need you." Nodding he took Elsa's arm and led her towards Veronica. Bowing in front of her, he smiled. "Reverend Mother! You needn't have come to town. I was just on my way to see you."

"Captain," Veronica started and immediately corrected herself, "Admiral von Trapp! It's so wonderful to see you! How are Maria and the children?"

"They were well when I left them three days ago. And by the way we've added to the family. It's eleven children now: two sons and a daughter of our own and one adopted son. Besides we've got our first grandchild. Unfortunately the family is still in Washington – I didn't know what I'd find here." He looked around and then smiled again. "Let's go up to my office and have some coffee and a talk!" He twinkled at Elsa and his smile became a boyish grin: "Oh, I'm sure you'll love to meet my coordinator for civilian affairs." Turning to the desk, he ordered, "Sergeant, would you please call Mr. Detweiler and send him to my office?"

* * *

Elsa sighed contently and wriggled her toes, watching with amusement the tiny waves she was making. Twinkling into the sun she said, "Thank you, Max. It's really nice here. I'm glad you persuaded me to come with you."

Max Detweiler, sitting next to her on the bank of the Salzach river, his trousers rolled up and his feet in the water also, laughed and reached for the wine bottle he had put in the stream to cool. "The simple things in life: a picnic at the riverside, a bottle of cheap wine – who would have thought that the two of us would one day enjoy that so much?"

Elsa closed her eyes and leaned back, enjoying how the sunrays stroked her face. In former times she would have bothered about wrinkles or a sunburn, but now appearance and beauty weren't so important to her anymore. "Who would have thought that the two of us would one day work so hard mainly for other people's welfare? It seems we've both changed, Max."

Max Detweiler sounded almost awkward as he replied, "The aftershocks of war make it quite hard to live an idle life, don't you think? I can't deny that I'd rather deal with music than with peanut butter – ghastly stuff, if you ask me – and that I certainly would rather drink champagne than this," he looked at the bottle and shook his head, "beverage of rather dubious provenance. One more bottle of it and I'll start to long for your famous pink lemonade!"

Elsa laughed, took the bottle out of his hand and poured some of the wine into one of the thick water glasses sitting next to her on the blanket. "_Prost_, Max!" she said, raising the glass and sipping at it. "I'm glad you didn't change too much. It's already scary enough to see you working all day!"

"And what about you?" Max asked. "You're playing with children!"

"Don't tell Georg!" Elsa laughed. "He'd probably make me baby sit his entire brood of children and grandchildren if he knew!" Becoming serious, she asked, "How is he coping? Did he already see the villa?" Just two weeks before, only a few days after the war's end, Elsa had come across Georg's house on her way to a farm. Even for her, who had only spent a few days in the villa, its state had been a shock. Before leaving it, the Nazis obviously had used the ballroom for shooting practise. The beautiful old wall panels were completely destroyed, bullets had made the paintings on the ceiling fall down, almost every door in the house had been ruined, what was left of the furniture had been squashed and burnt, the garden had been used for driving trucks, and the gazebo lay in shambles.

Max nodded gravely. "Yesterday we went there. Actually …" he stroked his moustache and took a sip of the wine. "In a way I was more furious than Georg. You know, I still thought of the villa as 'home' while Georg – how shall I put it? I wouldn't say his home is America now because he's still too much of an Austrian. However, his home definitely is where his heart is – which means: wherever Maria is. And she, at least as his wife, was never at home in the villa." He looked at Elsa and then tenderly touched her shoulder. "Sorry."

Elsa didn't even want to pretend she hadn't understood. From the moment she had gotten to know Max Detweiler, she had liked him and found him to be a kindred soul. Although he had always played the fool, she had seen through him, had discovered his deep loyalty towards his friends, how he cared about the musicians he was dealing with and – well, he had seen through her too, her flippant attitude and her attempts at appearing carefree. He had known how lonely she actually had been and how desperately she had wished to find someone to belong to, someone who wouldn't only want her for her beauty, her social standing and her money, but for the person she was. And Max had known all the time that Georg had been more than a suitable marriage candidate for Elsa. She had loved him, truly and so deeply it had sometimes surprised her. And yes, it had hurt that he had fallen for Maria. She had found it deeply unfair after she had been waiting so long for him to overcome his grief and become ready for love again.

Elsa had always been far away from being a saint. There had been moments when she had wanted to scratch Maria's eyes out and to scream at her, "He's mine! I'm the one who waited for two years! I'm the one who made him smile again!"

She had tried to fight against Maria because she first had really believed that Georg's feelings for her were just a little infatuation. Or better said: she had wanted to believe so, though a part of her had already known that Georg von Trapp wasn't a man to play around with women.

She had been the one who had once laughed at a lady who had tried to seduce Georg, at this time still married to Agathe. This lady had told Elsa, "He's such a handsome, hot-tempered man. I can't believe that he's really faithful to this boring little broodmare of his. Just look at her: always pregnant and only talking about her children. I don't believe she's woman enough for such a man! He could have any woman!"

Elsa had shaken her head. "There's one very important thing you haven't understood about Georg von Trapp: He knows himself how he looks – and he's aware of the fact that many women are attracted to him. But in his case that has become one of the reasons why he is a faithful husband: He doesn't need to prove to himself that he could have other women. It wouldn't be a challenge for him, especially not with the women who slobber all over him. Besides, he loves his wife and his children. They're what he cherishes most in the world and he would never hurt them by fooling around."

She had known that and nevertheless she had hoped that he would "fool around" with Maria, that he would forget all about her as soon as she was out of his sight. She had been wrong and she had learned that the hard way.

Yet, since then, life had gone on and so she smiled at Max and laid her hand on his arm. "I'm fond of Georg," she said. "I always was and I always will be – and therefore I'm glad he's happy with Maria. Besides," now she looked at the river again, a wave of sadness washing over her, "I really was smitten with my count. He was a wonderful man – warm-hearted, caring, smart, witty. I'm sure the feelings between us would have become real, deep love if we would have gotten the time to develop them."

Max turned at her. "How long have you been married to him?"

Elsa drank another sip of the wine. "Five months," she answered and then, swallowing, she added, "On paper. In reality he was in my life only for 17 days."

"Would you like to tell me more about him?" Max asked gently.

Elsa shrugged her shoulders. "The story isn't very original, at least not in wartime. Thousands of women have gone through something like that. In my case, I met Germanus – and isn't it funny that someone named 'Germanus' who looked like a young Siegfried hated the Nazis? – at a friend's birthday party. It was love at first sight. We spent the entire next day together and that night I invited him into my bed." She looked at Max. "Shocked?"

He shook his head. "Certainly not. I suppose he was an officer and had to go back to war?"

Elsa nodded. "Yes. One week after our first meeting he went back to Russia. We wrote letters to each other and in his fourth letter he asked for my hand in marriage. Three months later he got another few days off and so I travelled to Germany and we were married in his hometown church. His family wasn't too happy about it – I was five years Germanus' senior and they would rather have him married to a nice, young girl who he could have a bunch of children with, but we didn't care. We spent seven blissful days at his uncle's castle, then he went back to Russia. Four months later I was a widow once again and lost the child I was expecting." Now a tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away. Forcing a smile she said, "Perhaps it was better that way. I'd probably be a terrible mother."

Max shook his head and took her hand. "I certainly don't think so, Elsa. And I'm terribly sorry for you."

Elsa squeezed his hand for a moment and laid her head against his shoulder. It was good to be with him, to feel his warmth and to look in his dark brown eyes. "But now let's talk about you. Is there still no candidate for the vacant position of Mrs. Detweiler?"

"Oh dear me!" Max laughed. "Who would want to marry me?"

"Don't belittle yourself, Max! A woman could do much worse than you," Elsa answered. "How old are you now?"

"Fifty-six," Max answered. "Fifty-six years old and still not settled. No house, no family, no fortune, not even a flat of my own. My few belongings I can still pack into one suitcase. I'm definitely not marriage material."

"Where did you live in America?" Elsa wanted to know.

"While Georg and Maria were in New York, I had a room in their attic. When they moved to Annapolis, I rented a room in a hotel," Max replied. "You know somehow I never felt like settling down. And what would I have done with a home of my own? When I was in New York I was mostly out, seeing people, going to concerts or hunting down musicians."

"You probably didn't need a home of your own because you were always a member of the von Trapp clan and therefore at home with Georg, Maria and the children," Elsa smiled.

"Yes, that's probably true," Max replied after a little thinking and laughed. "At least my ability to adapt to small rooms pays now. At the moment, Georg and I feel like true bohemians living in the attic of headquarters. My room is just big enough to house a camp bed, a nightstand and a stool while Georg wallows in luxury: he's got a closet in his room! Besides we share a wash bowl in front of our chambers under the roof. My wake-up call is usually Georg cursing – and you'd wonder about the vocabulary of our noble Admiral if you could hear it – because he's run his head against the roof beam once again."

"One would think the American military governor of Salzburg could get better lodgings!" Elsa said.

"He could if he wanted to," Max responded. "But you know how Georg is. The villa he should have gotten is filled with homeless people – and as long as we can't give them proper places to stay Georg won't move in, even if that means he can't let Maria and the children join him."

"But he misses them, doesn't he?"

"He misses them dreadfully," Max sighed. "However, at the moment Salzburg still isn't a place where he'd like to have them."

* * *

_Admiral Georg von Trapp to Baroness Maria von Trapp_

_Salzburg, June 20, 1945_

Sweetheart,

thanks for your letter! It's good to know that you and the children are doing well and that Liesl and Allegra have joined you. It indeed wouldn't make much sense if the two of them lived on their own now that Christopher is in Vienna. However, I'm afraid he won't enjoy it there much. From what I've heard the political situation in Vienna is even worse than in Salzburg. The Russians obviously aren't really cooperative towards their allies and their soldiers are behaving like barbarians among the civilians.

I can't tell you how glad I am to be spared such problems here, though I've had to fight a few attempts of the Russians and the French to mess around here too. As far as this is concerned, I am really grateful to Christopher because he at least keeps his fellow countrymen away from me. We have enough trouble here with around 20,000 homeless citizens and around 65,000 displaced persons from all around and even from Germany. Considering that we have to provide for them and that we urgently need to find shelter for them before the winter comes I really and definitely don't need any political trouble. It is already bad enough as it is and I often feel rather helpless. The big problem here simply is that one doesn't know where to start. We need to build camps for the homeless, but before we can do so we need to get the infrastructure working again. At the moment it is our biggest problem: the main train station is a ruin with only one track functioning; the airfield is in working order, but the road from there to the city is half destroyed. The same goes for the bridges over the Salzach, and my calls for help – we need a pontoon bridge as soon as possible – only get me answers like "Our engineers are working in Vienna. As soon as we can spare a few of them we'll send them to you."

So we deal with trucks being stuck in heavy traffic; trains not coming through; people sleeping in the streets; fighting when the depots open to dole out supplies; a black market that gets worse every day; overfilled hospitals with too few medicines; electricity breaking down three times a day; the water works not working properly; not enough men; not enough material; not enough of this and that. And sometimes I can't believe that we will ever be able to make Salzburg a good place to live in again and Max needs to remind me that we have already survived another war. Only we were younger then. On the other hand: last time I felt like a loser at the end of the war. It meant that all that I had believed in – the emperor, the monarchy, Austria – was gone. Today the war's end feels like liberation and even victory – and not only because I am wearing the uniform of the winning party. Despite all the debris and ruins surrounding me, I feel like this is Austria's chance to become alive again.

Our homeland has gotten its second chance to become a democracy – and I really hope that the people who didn't quite get it last time have learned the lesson now. It is the future of our children we are working for here.

But, speaking of that, I am afraid I have bad news: you and the children coming back to Austria in the next while will not be possible. As much as I miss all of you, as much as I long to be with you again, my Maria: the situation here is not one I would want to have my wife and family involved in. The house in Aigen is in a bad state – before leaving it, the Nazis obviously celebrated an orgy of destroying as much as possible and at the moment it would feel utterly wrong to use the little material we have to build up my own home while so many other people don't have even a roof over their head. Besides I am not even sure anymore if I really would like to live in Aigen again. It is not only that I feel disgusted about Himmler's occupation of our house. Walking through it and thinking of how it was once, I wondered if this house would still suit us. It is something we need to talk about as soon as you are here – if only I already knew when it will be possible for you to come.

Besides that, I was asked to give you Max's, Elsa's and of course the Reverend Mother's regards. As I told you already in my last letter, your Reverend Mother is doing an amazing job with the women and children who have gone for shelter to the abbey. With Elsa's help she organized a kitchen that doesn't only provide for the people in the abbey, but for the women working downtown too. Besides Sister Berthe has gathered some women to make clothes and another three sisters are schooling the children in the abbey. They have managed to get a little bit of 'normalcy' into these children's lives – and I think that is exactly what these poor, shocked little souls need now.

Elsa is amazing too. I do not see much of her, but she spends a lot of time with Max not only working together and organizing things, but even in what one could call "recreation time." They have convinced me that providing only for the most necessary things is not enough to get Salzburg alive again, so they are – among a lot of other, as Max says, "less frivolous things," – working at bringing some music back to our town. In August (3) we are to have a festival again – and I do so hope that by then I will have you at my side again.

It is late and I am rather tired, hence I will go to my lonely bed now. I needn't tell you that you are in my thoughts and my heart all the time?

Yours always – G.v.T.

* * *

_Christopher Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge to Elisabeth Lady Fenswick_

_Vienna, June 21, 1945_

Dear Li,

many thanks for your package and the lovely letter, which just arrived yesterday. Finding it on my desk when I came back to my office in the middle of the night definitely made my day. Looking at the new photograph of Allegra – and she really takes after you, becoming prettier every day – and nibbling at the delicious fruitcake your mother made (thank her from me, will you?) I read what you have written and it made me, at least for a moment, forget about all the fruitless talks, the pile of reports to write, and the entirely tedious and tiresome existence I live here.

Did I once complain about American politicians being bad? By now I am longing for a few of them because they are all sweethearts compared to the Russian militarists I have to deal with now. One needs to remind them once an hour that they didn't win this war alone and that they weren't the only victims of Hitler's hubris. And as far as this is concerned our French friends aren't much help either. The last history lesson their General Ratacap was listening to must have been the one about Napoleon climbing up the pyramids and stealing everything his troops could carry away. Clearly the lesson about _La Grande Nation_ going down after Napoleon's wars didn't make it into Monsieur le General's consciousness, so he now is entirely unable to understand that we are not here to take revenge or celebrate a victory but to build up peace and stability in Europe.

All this politics often makes me wonder what the deuce I am doing here. I am an historian and I actually like politics best when it is already past history and I can make wisecracks about it – which is always easy in hindsight.

However, I am afraid it will be a rather long time until I can go back to my desk at Oxford. At the moment the people in our foreign ministry think I am doing valuable work here, and who am I to disagree with them? (Except that it is tired ol' me who is here wondering if watching my toenails grow might not be more entertaining and "valuable" than all the talking I am doing). Yesterday my level of frustration had even reached so far that I was whining in your father's ear. Playing politics all the time has obviously gotten to him – instead of telling me to shut up and to stop whining he too gave me a speech about the value of my work and reminded me that – I quote him – we are "building up our children's homeland." Well, considering that Allegra is half Austrian (I wonder which part of her is Austrian – the one that wants to be fed all the time or the one that fills nappies (4)?), I couldn't disagree with him, though I would definitely rather change said nappies five times a day than try to clean up the mess the Russians are making here.

Well, thinking of Allegra – I miss her dreadfully. I can't wait until you and Allegra can at least visit me here, though I would understand if you didn't want to in the next few months. Vienna certainly isn't at its best; a lot of the city is destroyed and it will take some time until the living conditions here will be acceptable again. It is perhaps better Allegra and you remain in America until Europe has recuperated from the war. Even merry old England isn't at the moment a good place to stay with all the rationing and the ruined cities. I must admit that I, despite knowing about the bombing, was very shocked when I saw London the other week.

Dear, I must run – I have another conference with the Russians to attend. Knowing them, I fear they will once again try to get me and my American colleague filled to the brim with vodka – plying us with booze until our livers beg for mercy is obviously their idea of "diplomacy." But don't fear for me – I have discovered that the plants the Russian general has in his office are good for disposing of at least every other drink. And obviously these plants are Russian too – they've flourished since I started watering them with vodka twice a week.

Please give your mother and your sibling my regards and our daughter a big kiss. And if you want to, take one too.

Take care!

Yours, Christopher

to be continued …

* * *

(1) That isn't a product of my imagination, but history: The von Trapp villa in Aigen was indeed used by Himmler when he came to Salzburg (and he did so almost every summer for the festival there). After the war it was given back to the family von Trapp, but they didn't want to come back to Austria and sold the villa to the Catholic Church. It's now a seminar for Catholic priests. And just now there's some big fuss about it again because it shall be made to a hotel and some people around don't like that much.

(2) "Here happiness is at home, nothing bad may enter." And once again: that's history. The mosaic – now missing – was found when the Mozart memorial was built in 1842.

(3) Another historical fact: Although around 40 of Salzburg was destroyed, on August 11, 1945, the first "Festspiele" after the war started.

(4) Dear American readers, I know: it's "diapers" in American English. But Christopher Fenswick is an English lord and therefore he uses the British idiom, and that's "nappies".


	24. Chapter 24

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter 24: Exsultate, jubilate**_

August 1945

Was it really six years ago since she had last stood on the stage of the Felsenreitschule, looking up at the dark blue sky over her hometown? Liesl didn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was as if it had been just yesterday; on the other, it seemed to be a lifetime ago. The last time she had been a girl, just growing out of childhood, and now she was a wife and mother. Just a few steps away, in the room behind the stage, a young nun from Nonnberg Abbey was watching over Phillip and Allegra who hopefully were both sleeping. And there, in the first row in front of the stage where once Gauleiter Zeller had sat and watched the von Trapps say farewell to their country, Liesl saw now her father, very distinguished in his dark blue uniform. Next to him sat Maria in a soft green dress, smiling up at the stage. At her left was another blue uniform, a bit brighter than Georg's American one and with a lot of gold tassels on the left side and the shoulder boards. Yet Liesl found that the gold was outshone by Christopher's blond hair. She knew that most women around probably thought her father was more handsome than her husband with his hawk-like nose, but nevertheless she couldn't take her eyes off him.

She had missed him more than she had thought possible. Actually she had already started to long for him even before he left Washington because in the final days of his time there she had hardly gotten to see him. His life had been incredibly hectic before his departure to Vienna, while Liesl had had nothing to do and paced through the house, already feeling like a puppy that had lost its master.

It had been only five months since she had first shared Christopher's bed, but that night had changed her life. Waking up the next morning, she had found herself alone, but there had been a note on the pillow next to her: "Sweet Li, you looked so lovely and peaceful in your sleep. I couldn't bring myself to wake you, but I hope I will be able to make it home for dinner. Give Allegra a kiss from me and have a pleasant day! Yours, C."

Liesl hadn't been disappointed. She had already known that a night together wouldn't make the reserved diplomat she had married become mushy and sentimental. She was even aware that Christopher probably wasn't even in love with her and never would be. Yet he had become fond of her – as he had once said himself. And the night with him – Liesl hadn't even dreamed that making love could be like that.

She wouldn't have admitted it to anyone – though Christopher seemed to know all the same – but her night with Finlay hadn't been what she had expected. Actually, it had left her wondering why people made such a fuss about sex. A bit of fumbling, a few kisses, a few moans, all over in around five minutes – and that was what authors of love novels described as fulfilment? But at least the slight disappointment she had felt afterwards had meant that she did not miss it much during the first months of her pregnancy.

However, living with Christopher had changed that. What he had said once on their way to lunch at her parent's house had still rung in her ears: "With me it would be a longer night than the one you spent with the egotistical whelp who impregnated you!" He hadn't overexaggerated. As he had started to kiss and to touch her it had dawned on her why people were so keen on making love and as she had seen his blond head diving down between her legs – it had been incredible! And later then – his body over hers, his skin shimmering with sweat, his eyes dark blue, his mouth on hers, the way he had moved in her – never had something felt so right and so absolutely perfect.

Lying in his bed then the morning after, feeling a bit sore and liking the slight ache in her thighs, Liesl had become aware that she had fallen in love with her husband.

She hadn't told him. She simply wouldn't have known how without sounding like a silly girl. Besides, what good would have come from it? He wasn't in love with her, but he was a great father for Allegra, her friend and, as she had learned in the weeks after their first encounter, a passionate and at the same time gentle lover. Of course, it sometimes bothered her a bit that he never approached her, but whenever she came close to him, he reacted eagerly and took her to bed. Besides he had tried to spend more time at home, sometimes even complete Saturdays; he had never forgotten to send her flowers when he was away for two or three days and he often surprised with her little gifts. She had become quite spoiled by finding carefully wrapped books, chocolates, perfume and even sometimes some luxurious piece of lingerie – always very tasteful – on her pillow after a night with him. And she was always treated with the utmost politeness. What could a woman want more from her husband? Love? The kind of love her parents shared? Liesl had always thought the relationship between Maria and Georg unique. Most couples she met at social gatherings behaved as if they didn't care much about each other. And from the talk she had overheard in ladies' rooms she had learned one thing: marrying for love certainly didn't always lead to "happily ever after." Considering how many couples seemed to live not with, but beside each other, Liesl preferred having a husband who didn't claim to love her but was her friend. It was enough, and considering how greatly he pleased her at night, it was probably even more than most women ever got.

Besides, Liesl would never forget that Christopher hadn't only given Allegra a home and his name, but his love.

After Christopher had left for Austria, Liesl hadn't liked staying in the mansion anymore. She had felt incredibly lonely. And she had known that their time in Washington was over. Christopher had often enough said that he wanted to go back to Oxford after the war. In a way Liesl had looked forward to that. She had known that her parents would go back to Austria sooner or later and the idea of having an ocean between her and her family had never sat well with Liesl. On the other hand, the thought of leaving the house in Washington had bothered her. It had been there that she had met Christopher for the first time; she had refurnished the house and made it a home; it had been under this roof that she had fallen in love with Christopher, and the house was the only home her daughter had ever known. Saying "farewell" to it – Liesl had been sure that she would have found it easier if she had been leaving to be with Christopher again, but moving out to stay with Maria, not knowing when she would see her husband again, had felt odd and sad. However, Maria had welcomed her with open arms and it had certainly helped Liesl to be once again surrounded by her siblings.

Four weeks ago then, rather late at night, the phone had rung. Liesl had answered it and heard Max's cheerful voice: "Hello, sweetheart! You're just the one I wanted to talk to. What do you think about packing your and Allegra's little bags and coming here? You know, we'll be doing the first postwar festival and I'd like you to sing in it."

The next three days had been as hectic as the time before Christopher's departure. Maria had decided to accompany Liesl to Salzburg, taking Phillip with her. The other children – though they had all protested and wanted to go too – had to stay behind in the care of Susan and Pittypat Forrester. Her husband had gone to Hawaii, so she had been glad for what she called "a nice diversion."

Salzburg then – after almost 24 hours of travelling with a stop in Ireland, Liesl had been glad to arrive at last. Luckily the children had been good. Allegra had enjoyed the attention of the young soldiers flying with them while Phillip had either slept or pressed his nose against the window, watching the clouds. However, Liesl had felt anxious. She had hoped – oh, how she had hoped! – that she would soon see Christopher again, but she had known that travelling in Austria was still a problem. And Christopher was busy in Vienna while she would have rehearsals in Salzburg.

Stepping down from the airplane behind Maria, the now-sleeping Allegra on her arm, Liesl had looked for Max and her father – and there they had stood next to a black limousine and waved at them. Just as Georg started to walk towards them, a jeep with two soldiers in khaki had approached. Liesl had only registered it out of the corner of her eye until she saw the union jack on its side. And then, even before the jeep had come to a complete stop, the officer in the passenger seat had jumped out and come towards them too. Passing Georg, he had – a bit lazily – saluted by raising his hand to his blue beret, turning his head towards the plane. Only then had it clicked, andLiesl had run down the stairs and cried aloud: "Christopher!"

His blue eyes had been beaming: "My girls! Welcome to Austria!" Bending down he had kissed Liesl's cheek and had taken Allegra, who was just waking again with a big yawn, out of her arms, lifting her up over his head: "My, you've become big and heavy!" Smiling again at Liesl he had said: "It's good to see the both of you! I've missed you!"

One hour later Maria and Liesl had put the tired children to bed. Max had managed to find other lodgings for the people who had occupied the hotel "Goldener Hirsch," so Georg and he had been able to move in. Georg had even gotten a rather nice suite with an attached guest room for the children to sleep in, and Max had secured the room opposite the suite for himself, but had now moved up the stairs to allow Liesl to stay close to her daughter.

As she came into her room Christopher was just unpacking. Only it wasn't much that he put into the closet: two clean shirts, some underwear, a pair of black shoes and a blue uniform. Feeling suddenly a bit awkward, Liesl looked at the uniform and touched the rank insignia – two golden rhombi with a crown over it – on the shoulder boards. "I've learned to read American Navy ranks, but I'm rather lost with others. What does this mean?"

Christopher put a blue cover on top of the closet. "I'm a colonel now – promoted out of line and not for merit, but simply because the Russians wouldn't want to deal with a mere captain. But hopefully I won't have to wear a uniform for muchlonger."

Liesl smiled at him. "It actually suits you," she said. "You look rather adventurous."

"But I'm still what your heroic father names a 'paper-shuffler,'" he grinned and pointed at her dresses, which already hung in the closet. "While you were looking after Allegra, the maid was here to unpack your things. I had her get the two evening gowns down to be pressed. I hope that's okay with you."

"Absolutely. Thank you, Christopher." Liesl sat down on the bed. "How long will you stay in Salzburg?" she asked.

"Unfortunately I need to go back to Vienna the day after tomorrow. But I hope I can come back for the weekend. And I'll be there for the concert – I wouldn't miss it for the world." He closed the closet, turned around and smiled at Liesl. "Your father invited us to dinner at eight o'clock. That means," he looked at his watch, "that you've got five hours to recuperate a bit from the flight. I reckon it was rather exhausting, so you probably want to take a little nap."

Actually Liesl wasn't tired anymore. She had slept on the plane and ,besides, she found it exciting to be so close to her husband again. If only he weren't so distant! She longed for his kisses and touches, but she knew that he wouldn't start anything. He always left it to her and so she kicked her shoes off, lay back on the bed and asked, "What about you? Wouldn't you like a little nap too?"

At least one thing Liesl could be sure of with her husband: he never played coy or hard to get. Sitting down on the bedside he took her hand and kissed it, his mouth lingering on her skin. "My dear Li – was that an invitation?"

Looking into his blue eyes, Liesl nodded. "I've missed you very much, Christopher."

"Well, if that's so …" Christopher bent over her and kissed her tenderly, his hand gliding down to her breast and squeezing it gently.

Liesl closed her eyes, moaning quietly. His touch was already enough to make her entire body tingle with arousal. And there was his smell and the strong muscles of his back moving under her fingers and now he was deepening the kiss and she couldn't get enough and pulled him closer until he almost covered her.

Only there was too much fabric between them and Liesl started to pull his shirt out of his trousers, reaching under it only to find another shirt and pull at it impatiently. Christopher broke the kiss and laughed. "Sorry, my dear – military dress code!" Getting up, he undid his black boots and unbuttoned his shirt.

Liesl hurriedly jumped out of the bed too, slipped out of her light summer dress, chemise, bra and underwear and lay down again, watching in awe how Christopher revealed his broad back, opened his trousers and shoved them and his underwear down. Bending to undo his socks, he gave Liesl the chance to admire his firm backside.

One quick move then and he was under the blanket next to her, reaching out to take her in his arms. Liesl felt that he was already aroused and for a moment she felt tempted to pull the blanket away. She couldn't count anymore how often she had slept with her husband, but nevertheless she had never seen his private parts. Somehow Christopher always managed to hide himself under the blanket or to dim the lights before Liesl could get a look at him. On the other hand he had never shown any reluctance about touches—just the contrary. Once, as Liesl had teased him a bit by only playing around his navel, he had even taken her hand and led it down to his erection. "That's where you're wanted just now, darling," he had said.

Now Liesl reached down to his penis again and tenderly stroked it while Christopher kissed her breast and his hand found his way between her legs. And it was so good to be touched by him because Liesl knew that he would give her what she longed for and because he would enter her and drive away the loneliness she had suffered from in the last weeks. Sleeping with him was more than the pleasure of the flesh – though with Christopher this part of it was not to be sneezed at. It was a chance to come close to this unpredictable, still-mysterious man she had married and fallen in love with. Somehow Liesl felt that it meant more to him too and that in a way he craved the gentleness and closeness that came with the act as much as she did. Finlay, the man who had said that he loved her, had gone afterwards, leaving her alone. Yet Christopher always remained close after making love, holding her, and even when he was tired after a long day of work, he never fell asleep without stroking her hair, kissing her and whispering in her ear how much he had enjoyed being with her, how beautiful she was, how perfect she felt around him. In these wonderful moments he made her feel cared for, secure and content.

These feelings always lasted. Even now, standing on the stage and feeling as anxious as always when she had to sing, his gentle smile elicited a rush of happiness. And there came her cue at last and she started to sing: "Exsultate, jubilate! O vos animae beatae …" (1)

Her voice rang out into the night, telling of happiness and peace. Liesl concentrated – Mozart had once written the piece for one of the great castrates of his time to give him a chance to show off his virtuosity. It started off harmlessly enough, but then it became very difficult and filled with tricky coloraturas.

Liesl had always liked singing coloratura – even as a child before she had gotten her first singing lessons, she had tried. Now, knowing how to do it properly, she enjoyed it even more and she knew she had become very good. Since the birth of Allegra her body had changed. She had gained a bit of weight – not so much to make her uncomfortable about it, but just enough to look more womanly and for her voice to develop more volume. Yet with the help of her teacher she had managed to keep it very pliable, and now she used what she had worked on in the last months. First she sang only _sotto voce_ in the soft middle part, making it sound sweet and almost simple. It obviously worked, as Liesl saw when she took her eyes away from the conductor for a moment and looked down into the audience. Maria had taken Georg's hand, holding it in both of hers while she watched Liesl in awe.

Georg's face was inscrutable, but Liesl knew him well enough to register the glitter in his eyes. Her father was touched by her singing.

And there was Christopher, his eyes beaming with pride and tenderness. For a few seconds Liesl allowed herself to watch him, then, with a smile she once again breathed deeply, straightened her shoulders and started: "Alleluja, alleluja!" Now was the moment to show off and to sing out, her voice filling the arena, celebrating the glorious summer night, the sky full of glittering stars, the joy of being back in her homeland, her happiness that at least this part of the world was at peace again. In this moment, standing on the stage of the Felsenreitschule – and this time there were only lights in the upper ranks, no SS men in ugly uniforms – life was perfect.

She was done with her first piece. The audience started to applaud, her father now beaming at her too while Maria whispered something to Christopher that made him laugh, showing a perfect row of white teeth. Did he know how endearingly young and boyish he looked when smiling like that?

One hour later she was finished with her first encore – she had sung the "Laudate Dominum" from Mozart's _Vesperae solemnes di confessore_, one of Maria's all time favourites. It had caused tears to run down her mother's cheeks, and Georg and Christopher simultaneously had offered her a handkerchief.

However, the audience hadn't gotten enough yet. They were standing and still applauding and the conductor smiled at Liesl. "One more? Like we talked about?"

Liesl nodded, feeling a bit shy. Stepping forward she cleared her throat and raised her hand. The clapping stopped and the audience looked expectantly at her. "Six years ago," Liesl started, her eyes searching for Georg's, "my father stood on this stage, bidding his farewell to Austria without knowing if he would ever be able to come back again. On that night he sang a song for you. Tonight I want to sing that song for him. Without men like my father, men who fought for what is right and just, we wouldn't have gotten peace again. Father, this is for you."

Stepping back she gave the conductor a signal and swallowed twice to get the lump out of her throat. She didn't dare to look at her parents, but instead kept her gaze fixed on Christopher. He was standing, shoulders back and head erect, solid as a rock, his stance giving her the calm she needed to start her singing. "Edelweiß, Edelweiß, every morning you greet me" – the song that meant so much to her family. With a wave of her hand she encouraged the audience to join her and they did, Christopher's basso first, followed by Maria's clear soprano and Georg's baritone.

* * *

"My love …" Maria stepped close to Georg who stood at the window and looked out over the sleeping city. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she rested her head against his back. "Admit it, darling: Your eldest daughter is still able to surprise you."

Georg reached for her right hand, pulled it up and kissed the inside of her wrist. "Why should I have been surprised? I already knew that she's at the start of a big career. Elisabeth von Trapp will become a star. Just give her one or two more years and every opera house in the world will want her."

"Georg, I wasn't talking about Liesl's career!" Maria rose up on her tiptoes and kissed the back of his neck. "I was talking about her last encore."

"It was a nice idea. The audience liked it very much," he replied.

"And how did Liesl's father like it?" Maria asked.

Georg turned around and took her in his arms. "Fräulein, once again you're quite insistent!"

"And you, Captain, once again, are stubborn!" Maria ruffled his hair. "I know you were touched!"

"Why are you asking if you already know?" He stepped backwards, pulling her with him and sank down onto the bed, Maria still in his arms and laying on his chest. "Have I told you lately that you're beautiful?"

"Admiral, your diversionary tactic won't work on me!" Maria told him, rolling off of him and onto her side. "You'll have to confess!"

"What, my love? That," he turned too, bending over her and pushing the fabric of her nightgown aside to kiss the swell of her breasts, "I'm not able to take my hands off you? That I am, after almost seven years of marriage, still in love with my own wife and want to ravish her every chance I get?"

Maria chuckled. "That's probably what your son-in-law is just doing too!"

Now she had gotten him. Georg raised his head and scowled. "What?"

"Christopher looked all night as if he wanted to eat Liesl!" Maria said. She found Georg's reaction rather amusing. On the one hand, he got along rather well with Christopher now, even admitting now and then that he really appreciated his talent as a diplomat. On the other hand, the thought of Christopher coming close to his baby girl still made Georg climb walls.

"Charles Forrester told me once he'd seen the two of them kissing in the parking garage of the Embassy in Washington," Georg grumbled. "Nevertheless, I thought …"

Maria laughed. "Darling Georg, sometimes things change, you know? I once met a very severe, rather arrogant aristocrat I found pretty insufferable. Only a few weeks later, I was married to him."

"Well, that was different, wasn't it?" Georg still looked irritated. "What makes you think Christopher and Liesl have developed an intimate relationship? Did she tell you?"

"Georg! That's not a subject we would talk about," Maria replied. "But, the signs are clear: Liesl always tries to stay close to him, Christopher looks at her as if he can't wait to get her alone. Besides, your son-in-law is sporting a hickey on his neck that wasn't there when he came two days before. How do you think he acquired it? And since we're at it: your daughter doesn't intend to go back to America. She will move to Vienna with Christopher."

"But that's not a good idea!" Georg promptly protested. "Vienna is practically destroyed and the supply situation there is even worse than ours here. Where will Liesl live and what's to become of Allegra and Liesl's singing?"

"I suppose finding a nanny and a singing coach shouldn't be too difficult for the future British ambassador in Austria," Maria said, getting up and walking around the bed to the other side.

"How do you know about that?" Georg slipped out of his dressing gown. "I thought that information was rather hush-hush."

"Charles Forrester told me," Maria replied and slipped under the blanket.

Georg shook his head. "Sometimes Charles is worse then a market wife! But it will be a few weeks before Christopher gets his official appointment. We'll host a conference here in Salzburg in September and by the end – hopefully – the Republic of Austria will be established. Only then will the British government install an ambassador in Vienna."

"But then the new ambassador will have to attend a lot of social gatherings to make himself known – and he will need his wife at his side," Maria explained. "Besides I was told that the English headquarters in Vienna are located in what was once their embassy. I'm pretty sure it will become the embassy again after the military is gone. And don't embassies usually come with living quarters for the ambassador and his family?"

Georg folded his hands under his head and sighed. "I see – Charles Forrester has informed you well. Nevertheless I still don't like the idea much. Austria isn't a good place for women and children at the moment."

"Thousands of women and children live here – and most of them under much worse circumstances than the English ambassador's family. Besides," now Maria laid her head on her folded hands, almost mocking his trademark position, "I will not be going back to Washington either. I've spoken with Pittypat Forrester. Charles will stay in Hawaii for some time, so it's no problem for her to look after our children until I've found us a house and they can come over here."

"One moment, please, Maria!" Georg had sat up in the bed, looking at her. "I just said I don't think Austria is a good place for families just now!"

"Well, I don't think it good when families are separated for too long!" Maria said firmly.

"You seem to have forgotten that most of our children are at school or in college!" Georg shook his head. "How shall they get a proper education here?"

Maria smiled. "Georg, the school at Nonnberg abbey is already open again – and all of our children speak German, even Stephan! The only one who can't go there is Louisa. She'll move – with your horses – to Inge Evanescu's until we find a place with stables for the boys. And then we'll see where Louisa will proceed with her education. Besides I was told that the university in Vienna was once rather good at educating vets."

Georg looked upset. "It seems you're already done with all the planning. Don't you think I ought to be involved in such decisions?"

"You are, Georg – we're talking about it now!" Maria took his hand. "Darling, just think about it: The children and I miss you dreadfully. And Austria is our homeland too!"

"Yes," he conceded, still not looking convinced. "But I wanted you to come to a proper home!"

Maria bent forward and kissed him. "Darling, we're all Austrians and we all want to participate in building up our homeland. America was good to us and we'll always be grateful for it, but we belong here!"

"Hmm." Georg ran a hand through his hair. "And what about Friedrich? He's an American officer and engaged to an American girl!"

"An American girl who speaks German almost perfectly and is writing her thesis about the _Nibelungenlied_!" Maria reminded him. "I'm pretty sure Julie would like to live in Salzburg – and Friedrich won't be an American officer for ever. He'll go back to school – and where could he get a better education than at the Mozarteum (2)?"

Georg sighed and leaned back. "Sounds sensible," he admitted. "Besides I won't be an American officer forever either. As soon as I'm done here I intend to resign."

Maria couldn't resist teasing him a bit. "It seems you're already done with all the planning. Don't you think I ought to be involved in such decisions?"

Georg laughed. "Touché! And yes, you should be involved because I intend to hang around at home all day, getting on your nerves!"

"You at home all the time? And how am I to cope with that?" Maria turned and moved closer to him, putting her head on his shoulder. "It's a terrible thought!"

"Well," Georg pulled her closer and kissed her. "You will start off your days making love to your husband. Afterwards we'll have breakfast, then I'll go into my study to read the newspapers and nap on the sofa – you know, at my age one needs some rest after exhausting oneself. After lunch we'll go for another nap, but of course, before sleeping I'll make love to you. Then we'll have tea; afterwards we'll take a little stroll in the garden and neck behind the rose bushes. After dinner the children and you will entertain me with some music and then we'll go to bed and make love." While talking he had opened the buttons of her nightshirt, shoved the fabric aside, and was now kissing her breast.

Maria laughed and slipped out of her shirt. "It seems you missed me a lot!"

"If you say now that I could have helped it by inviting you to come here earlier, I'll bite you!" Georg grumbled while undoing his pyjamas.

"Perhaps I'd like to be bitten by you?" Maria snuggled close to him and bent over his chest. "However, come to think about, I'd rather bite you!" Playfully she brought her teeth to his chest around his nipple, but got a few hairs in her mouth and shook her head. "Sometimes this hair really gets in the way!"

"Would you rather have me as smooth as a baby's bottom?" Georg asked.

"Well, at least it would make kissing your chest easier!" Maria stated, playfully tugging at a few still-dark hairs. "Just ask Liesl about that!" she chuckled. "Christopher hasn't got much hair on his chest."

Georg rolled his eyes. "And how did you acquire this information? Don't tell me it was Charles Forrester who talked to you about that!"

"I actually don't believe Charles is that familiar with Christopher," Maria laughed. "But we went swimming with him at the lake once. Don't you remember?"

"I remember our excursion, but I certainly didn't look at Christopher's chest!" Georg grumbled. "And besides I refuse to talk about it while I'm preparing to seducing you!"

"Oh, if that's so I'll forget all about his chest – though it _is_ a nice one, you know?"

"Maria, I warn you! I'll bite!" Georg laughed.

"Just watch out that I don't bite you!" Maria skidded down and kissed the tip of his erection. "What about biting you here?"

"You wouldn't do that," Georg laughed. "You know it would make him sulk – and that would spoil your fun too!"

"That's right!" Maria conceded and slid up his body again, but stroking his penis. "We can't have that."

"Certainly not!" Georg purred. "Now to you, Baroness! I think I have unfinished business with you …"

* * *

"Darling Max," Elsa squeezed his arm tenderly, "you mustn't walk up all the stairs with me to the abbey! It's quite late and you must be tired!"

"I may be an old man in your eyes, my dear, but I'm still gentleman enough to walk the lady I've spent a lovely night with home!" Max replied, smiling down at her.

"I don't see you as an old man, Max!" Elsa said firmly. "Actually – at the moment you make me feel very young." She chuckled. "You know, I haven't been walked home since I was around 16 years old. I had dancing lessons then every Friday and my partner – a very cute boy – always walked me home. And when we arrived at my house, we used to kiss in the garden!"

"Too bad there isn't a garden in front of the abbey!" Max laughed and pulled Elsa's hand to his mouth, kissing it tenderly.

"Well, would you like to kiss me there?" Elsa asked back, looking up at him.

"Show me a man who wouldn't and I'll think he's either blind or a homosexual!" Max walked up the first steps with her and then turned to look at her. "Elsa, you were once again the belle of the ball! Every man in the Felsenreitschule envied me for having you on my arm!"

Elsa stopped. From where they stood, they had a beautiful view over the city, and now, in the middle of the night, when one couldn't see the ruins, but the moon mirrored in the water of the Salzach and the towers of the churches watching out over the roofs, it was still lovely. Bracing her hands on the stone wall in front of her Elsa sighed contently. The concert had been a big success and the dinner she had shared with Max afterwards – it had felt like old times. Or had it felt even better? Over the last few weeks she had spent a lot of time with Max Detweiler – and she had enjoyed every minute of it. There was something special about her friendship with him, something she had never experienced before. Max Detweiler saw through her. He had always done so, from the first moment they had met. He had seen through her little schemes, he had known when she was acting flippant and careless without really feeling so, and though he had always known about her faults and follies, he had never showed anything other than understanding and affection for her. He had been a friend – probably the best one she had ever had.

Only in former times she hadn't thought much about that. She had been used to people adoring her and she had taken adoration as well as affection for granted. And Max – he had been amusing to be with, he had made her laugh and she had always enjoyed piffling with him. Being with Max had been as comfortable as slipping into a pair of cosy slippers and letting one's hair down. With him she had never needed to keep up the mask of the always regal Baroness von Schraeder who was totally in control of any situation.

The war and her second marriage had changed her. She had experienced rejection by her husband's family – and that had been something she certainly hadn't been prepared for – she had lost the man she had fallen in love with and she had suffered when people who she had thought friends became Nazis and wouldn't talk to her anymore. She had learned not to take anything for granted – and perhaps that had been the most important lesson in her life.

It now made her look at Max with deep gratitude for his faithful friendship. And even more: she had started to think about him, about the real Max who he always hid so carefully behind the mask of the "charming sponge." She knew – the story was still sometimes talked about in Vienna – that Max had once been in love with a beautiful countess. Only her proud father hadn't allowed her to marry a commoner and so she had become the wife of a duke who had been known all over Vienna for being a drunk and a womanizer. He had treated her so badly that only four weeks after the wedding she had shot herself. How Max had dealt with that, probably only Georg knew – and he would never talk about it.

Of course, Max was a red-blooded, healthy man and therefore he hadn't been on his own all of the time. Elsa also knew that he had once been close to a lady in Vienna – so merry a widow that she had once told a friend of Elsa that she would never understand how the women swooned all over Georg and overlooked his sidekick Max who certainly would be "much more talented in _ars armatori_ than the oh-so-handsome, but rather boring Captain von Trapp."

Turning around, she studied him as he looked down at the city. When she had first met him, he had looked older than his real age. But since then he hadn't changed much. A few grey hairs around the temples, a few in his moustache, but beside that he was still trim, his dark eyes – and she had always found them lovely – were still as alert as always. His sharp nose still reminded her of a falcon and his dark, small hands were still his most beautiful feature. He wore a black tuxedo and – perhaps a bit eccentric, but Elsa had always liked that Max had a style of his own – a dark red tie. Elsa couldn't help tugging tenderly at it. "I like your tie."

"I like your dress." He touched her bare shoulder and looked admiringly at the sleeveless, black evening gown she was wearing. "As I said: you were the most beautiful woman at the party."

"Flattery will get you …" Elsa smiled and interrupted herself to kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Max," she said then. "Thank you for being there. Thank you for tonight and thank you for being my friend."

"Elsa!" He grinned, but there was something in his eyes. "Are we going to become sentimental?"

"Why not?" Elsa rested her forehead against his shoulder. "It's a special night. You're back in business …"

"With your help, Elsa – I couldn't have done it without you." He folded his arms loosely around her and kissed the top of her head. "I was thinking …" he started then.

"About what, Max?"

"What will you do when the displaced people move out of the abbey? The camps will be set up soon, many of the Germans will go back to their places …"

Elsa smiled. "You think I won't be needed at the abbey anymore soon?"

"Well, there will still be the orphanage and the school …" Max said cautiously.

"Nevertheless I don't think I'll remain at the abbey for ever." Elsa laughed. "You know, as a nun I'd be terribly miscast! Yet I think I'll stay in Salzburg. There's nothing in Vienna that would pull me back. My house is destroyed, so I'll have to find another place to live. And I need to find some kind of a job – you know, my money is gone. Of course, I've got a bit from Germanus, but it's not enough to live entirely on it."

Max pulled her a bit closer. "That was what I was thinking about," he said. "What would you think about becoming my partner? You know, I want to get back into the music business soon. I've already got one up-and-coming star to work for – Liesl. And I intend to stay in Salzburg too – Salzburg was always a good hunting ground for musicians, what with the Mozarteum and the festival and the opera house. With your talent at organizing things and charming people you could do well in the business too."

"I'm not as good a musician as you!" Elsa said, though she liked the idea very much.

"That's why you should become my partner!" Max smiled down at her. "I pick the musicians, you do the organizing."

"And we share the prey?" Elsa rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "You know what, Max? That sounds like something I'd love to do."

"Then let's do it, partner!" Max laid his arm around her shoulder and started to walk again. "First let's find you a place to stay. Then we'll make up our business together – and in a few years, we'll be the moguls of the music industry in Austria!"

to be continued

(1) "Exsultate, jubilate", Motetta for soprano and orchestra by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, KV 165.

(2) The Mozarteum is Salzburg's famous conservatory.


	25. Chapter 25

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

Author's Note: Thanks to my beta Trapper. She's the best.

_**Chapter 25: Heavy Weather**_

December 1945

If asked later why he hadn't been sleeping at five o'clock that Saturday morning, but rather had been standing at the window of his and Maria's bedroom, looking out at the dark winter landscape, Georg wouldn't have known what to answer. His world had been in perfect order: things in Salzburg were going so well that he could hope to turn the reins over to the new civilian government soon; the old farm Maria and Elsa had found and bought had become a real home; the children, except Louisa who was still in America, liked going to school in Salzburg; at Christmas Friedrich would come home and bring his Julie with him and in the spring Georg would be done renovating the stables, then Louisa and the stallions would finally join the rest of the family.

Furthermore, the new government in Vienna was already working to make up for the damages the Nazis had done. Just the other day Georg had officially gotten the villa in Aigen and his other investments back. Of course, at the moment no one in Austria had enough money to buy houses like the few Georg owned. Yet he trusted that the economy of his homeland would soon recover too. Until then, his pay checks were enough to keep the family afloat. Nevertheless he was glad that he had gotten at least some of his fortune back. It secured Maria's and the children's future.

No, until he saw the lights of a car coming up the hill on which the farmhouse stood, Georg really hadn't had a reason for insomnia. However, seeing the lights approaching his house at that hour on a Saturday morning, he immediately became anxious. Slipping into his dressing gown, Georg looked quickly at Maria who was sleeping peacefully and then sneaked out of their bedroom and quietly down the stairs.

As a good father, he had closed the door the night before. Now he turned the heavy key, opened the door and looked out into the yard where the car had just stopped. Georg switched the light over the door on and in its light he saw that the black limousine had a small flag on its side. It was the Union Jack, and the sight of it was enough to make Georg run towards the car, not minding that his slippers certainly weren't ideal footwear for a walk through a snow-covered yard.

He reached the back door of the car at the same moment that the driver, a tired looking young man in a black suit, opened it. Georg greeted him with a nod and then helped Liesl out, who carried her daughter wrapped in a thick blanket. Liesl looked dreadful: her face pale, her eyes red and puffy, the long skirt of a dark green evening gown crumpled under her coat and the heel of one of her shoes broken.

"Liesl, what in Heaven's name happened to you?" Georg asked in shock.

Liesl seemed to fight against tears. Shifting her daughter into her other arm, she swallowed. "Can we stay here, father? At least for a while?"

"Of course you can stay!" Georg took his sleeping granddaughter out of Liesl's arms. "It's your home too!" Looking at the driver he asked, "Did you come all the way from Vienna just now?"

"Yes, sir!" The young man almost stood at attention.

"Well, then …" Georg pointed with his chin to the right side of the yard. "Drive your car around there under the roof where mine is parked and then come into the kitchen – fourth door on the right. I think you'll need some breakfast, don't you?"

"That would be wonderful, sir. And shall I bring her ladyship's luggage in?"

"Yes, please. Just put it in the hall." Georg turned back to Liesl who stood next to him, tiredly looking up at the stars. "Come in, darling. You look as if you need some breakfast too."

"Actually, I need a place for Allegra first. It's only five minutes since she fell asleep after crying almost all the way from Vienna."

Georg looked down at the toddler in his arms. "Poor little one! Let's go in." On his way into the house he considered what to do next. Liesl looked as if she might break down at any moment, the child needed a bed and the driver his breakfast and then a bed too.

Arriving in the hall Georg opened the door to his study. "Sit down there, Liesl. I'll look after Allegra and will be back in a minute!"

Running up the stairs he first knocked on Brigitta's door and entered. "Brigitta?"

His third daughter had always been a light sleeper. "Yes, Father?" She turned, switched the lamp on her nightstand on and looked at Georg, who stepped into the room with Allegra in his arms.

"Liesl just arrived," he told her. "I don't know what's happened to her, but could you look after Allegra for a while?"

Luckily Brigitta wasn't one to ask many questions. She only reached out and took the baby. "Oh, sweetie," she cooed, "come to your auntie Brigitta! We'll have a nice nap together."

"Thank you, Brigitta!" Georg smiled at her and went out, directly into the master bedroom where Maria was still sleeping.

Sitting down on the bed beside her, he laid his hand on her shoulder. "Darling, wake up. You're needed."

Maria turned with a grumble and opened one eye. Sleepily she asked: "What's the matter?"

Georg bent down and kissed her forehead. "It seems disaster has struck." Briefly he told her the little he knew.

Maria sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Poor Liesl! You'll look after her, won't you? I'll make breakfast for the driver and for us in the meantime. Then we'll put the driver in the guestroom I've prepared for Julie. Liesl can stay in Louisa's room for now and Phillip would love to spend the night with us, so Allegra can have his bed."

Although Georg wasn't too glad about having Phillip in his bed – at night the boy seemed to consist solely of edgy knees and elbows he used to drill into his father's bowels and even more sensitive parts – but he was once again relieved about Maria's sense for the practical. Kissing her again he rose. "Well then, I'm going to talk to my daughter."

As he came down into the library, he found her as he had left her, sitting on the sofa, still wrapped in her glorious mink coat – a gift from her husband, of course – with her hands in her lap, looking defeated and broken.

"Brigitta is looking after Allegra," Georg announced and went over to the fireplace. Kneeling down in front of it, he put a few logs and an old newspaper in and lit the fire. "It's rather cold here, isn't it? But coal is costly and rare nowadays, so we have to spare it."

His attempt to relax Liesl a bit failed entirely. She still looked like a frightened child. Georg sighed inwardly and went over to the sofa, sitting down next to his daughter. "I take it you're in trouble with your husband. What happened, Liesl?"

Tired blue eyes were looking at him and Liesl's voice sound flat and hopeless. "I'm pregnant, father."

Georg furrowed his brow. "Actually, one would think," he stated, "that this should be a happy occasion this time."

"And I did," Liesl replied, watching how the fire licked at the logs. "I was even foolish enough to hug my doctor when he told me." She fell silent, but now tears were running down her cheeks.

Georg pulled his handkerchief out and handed it to her. He felt like taking his daughter in his arms, but he knew his proud eldest. If she wanted that kind of comfort, she would turn to him. Softly he said, "I believed that Christopher likes children. He's so fond of Allegra."

"Yes." Liesl nodded slowly. "However, I should have listened to him. He said often enough that he didn't want to marry and to have children."

Georg felt rather helpless. Through the door he heard Maria coming down the stairs and entering the kitchen and for a moment he felt tempted to call her in. She had always been better at dealing with such problems, hadn't she? But there was the driver who needed breakfast, and truthfully Georg longed for a cup of coffee too. Considering his uselessness in the kitchen, it was probably better if he tried to deal with Liesl. But how? Laying his hand on hers, he asked softly, "Don't you want to tell me what happened exactly?"

"Oh, Papa! It was so horrible!" Now she was in his arms, her body shaking with sobs, her small hands clinging to him while she buried her head in his shoulder.

"Liesl, my child, my darling!" Georg held her, rubbing her back in soothing circles as he had done when she was a baby suffering from teething. However, as much as he tried to sound calm and collected, he was inwardly furious. What the deuce had Christopher done to hurt Liesl this much? Whatever it had been – Georg intended to make him pay for it! No one, and especially not this cold-hearted, arrogant, egotistical prick of an English lord, would come away unscathed from making Georg von Trapp's daughter cry like that—not as long as Georg was alive and kicking and able to defend what was his and beloved by him!

"Sorry, Papa!" Liesl was trying to compose herself, but the fact that she used the name she had called him as a small child – in fact, "Papa" had been the first word she had ever uttered – showed Georg how miserable she still was. "I'm slobbering all over you!"

"That is what papas are for!" Georg stroked her head and pulled her once again close. "And you know there's nothing you can't talk to me about."

Liesl nodded and kissed his cheek. "Yes, Papa. I'm so glad I'm here! All the way from Vienna I thought, 'As soon as I'm at home with father and mother, I'll feel better!'"

"And now? Already feeling a bit better?"

"Yes." Liesl nodded eagerly. "I'm not alone anymore – oh, Father, I felt so terribly alone!" She swallowed, used the handkerchief to wipe her eyes and then looked seriously at him. "Father, I know you and Mother are Catholics and I'm kind of a Catholic too, but – I mean, I didn't marry him in a church …"

"You want to divorce your husband?" Georg asked.

"Yes." Liesl sounded angry. "I never want to see him again."

"And the child – children, I mean?" Georg studied her small face. "You know, in the eyes of the law he is Allegra's father. He claimed her as his. And he's the father of the child you're expecting."

"Oh yes, he is!" Liesl's mouth became a thin line and her eyes glinted furiously. "But he doesn't want it. It's ironic, isn't it? Before Allegra was born, he told me that the eleventh Lord Fenswick would like a boy as his heir. Now I'm perhaps bearing this boy who will one day become the twelfth Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge – if someone can convince the eleventh Lord that he's the father. As for now, he denies it."

"What?" Georg almost yelled.

"Yes, father, you got that right. His lordship asked me who I had slept with to –I quote – 'catch another little bastard!'" Liesl sounded icy now. "It seems I'm a lousy picker when it comes to the men who father my children, am I not? The first one was married and died before I could tell him and the second one doesn't want his child and denies his paternity."

Georg couldn't sit still anymore. Rising up he started to pace across the room. "Liesl, please – tell me the entire story!"

She leaned back on the sofa, pulling her coat tighter around her. "Well, I had already suspected for a few days that I was pregnant again. But I didn't want to tell Christopher until I was really sure. You know, I was stupid enough to think that the news would make him happy."

"Did you ever talk with him about another child?" Georg asked.

Liesl shook her head. "My mistake – I didn't. I thought, with him adoring Allegra so much, he would love to have another baby too. Besides he needs an heir, doesn't he? And," now she was blushing and looked down in her lap, "he was the one who ranted about how irresponsible Finlay was for not using any contraceptive. So one would actually think that he, if he didn't want more children, would have used something to prevent it. Good heavens, I _am_ a von Trapp! And it was Christopher who once said that the Encyclopaedia Britannica should include a reference to our family on the subject of fertility!"

"The Fenswicks aren't doing too badly in that department either!" Georg stated dryly.

"Only they obviously don't care about their offspring as much as we do," Liesl said. "What an absolute idiot I was to believe we could become a happy family! How utterly stupid of me to believe that he would be happy! Just imagine: after the doctor told me I was singing with joy all day long. I was so looking forward to telling Christopher that I even considered going into his office though I knew that he was in meetings all day. Luckily I didn't. I wouldn't have liked to have this scene in the embassy with all of his stuffy staff listening!"

"I take it then you told him in private?"

"Yes," Liesl nodded again. "And it was like a moment out of a really bad play! We came back from a premiere at the opera and for once my dear husband seemed to have decided to seduce me." She laughed bitterly. "We were standing in front of the fireplace in his study and he had just kissed me passionately and I rose up onto my tiptoes and tenderly whispered in his ear: 'Darling, I have wonderful news. You're going to be a father again. I'm pregnant.' It was as though I had poured a bucket of ice water over his head! He let me drop like a hot potato and stepped away. And then, after a minute, he congratulated me, his voice and face completely cold. He said it had been so nice of me to try to provide him with an heir, only he hoped that I had had enough consideration not to have asked my colleague Andrea – that's the Italian tenor I was just working with – to sire it. His dark hair and eyes would look odd on a Fenswick."

Georg once again couldn't believe his ears. "He accused you of having an affair with this colleague?"

"Yes, he did," Liesl answered, sounding amazingly calm. "I don't need to tell you it's not true, do I?"

"Of course you don't!" Georg banged his fists against the wall over the mantelpiece. "The gall of the man! It's unbelievable! How dare he to accuse my daughter of adultery?"

"Well, Father, your daughter has committed adultery before – and her lord and master knows that," Liesl replied wearily.

"That was different!" Georg yelled. Shaking his head, he started to pace again. "I'm going to Vienna. I think I'll have a word with this husband of yours!"

Liesl shrugged her shoulders. "To what avail, Father? Christopher is convinced that I cheated on him and that my baby is – to quote him – another 'little bastard.'"

"I'll teach him to call a grandchild of mine a 'bastard!'" Georg snorted. "He'll apologize!"

"And then?" Liesl shook her head. "Father, I don't need an apology from him. Not after what he said. After that I simply don't ever want to see him again. I thought that me loving him and him at least liking me would be enough to make our marriage work. I was wrong. It would have required some trust and respect for me on his side too. Well, I'll pay for that mistake." She raised her chin. "Father, for the first time I'm going to need your help – at least until the child is old enough that I can work again. But then I intend to provide for my children myself. I certainly don't need the eleventh Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge! I have a career of my own and I'll bring my children up on my own! It was a mistake to marry Christopher – and now I intend to correct that mistake!"

* * *

Georg stopped the car in front of the big gate, put his cover on and rolled the window down, looking at the guard who had approached him. "I am Admiral von Trapp and I need to talk to the ambassador," he demanded.

"Yes, sir. May I have a look at your papers?" the guard asked politely.

"Of course." Georg handed him his identity card and drummed impatiently with his fingers on the wheel while the guard went into his booth and picked up the phone. It was still snowing, but although Georg had driven for almost six hours, he wasn't tired, but filled with nervous and furious energy. All the way from Salzburg he had thought about what Liesl had told him, but still he didn't understand how Christopher had dared to treat his young wife like that. Georg had always thought himself a rather good judge of character and although he had never become close to his son-in-law, he had at least believed him to be a gentleman. Besides, there had been Salzburg only a few months ago – and there he had seen how close Christopher and Liesl had become. He had started to hope that their marriage would become more than just an arrangement and that they could find true happiness with each other. What had happened since then? What had gotten Christopher to behave like a complete wretch?

Whatever it had been – Georg didn't intend to let him get away with it.

"Admiral von Trapp?" The guard was back. "His Excellency's secretary awaits you, sir. If you would just drive up here?" He opened the barrier and pointed at the driveway, which led up to a palace. On its balcony on the second floor the English flag hung wet from a pole.

As Georg drove his jeep up, the door under the balcony opened and an elderly man in a blue three-piece-suit stepped out and opened a black umbrella. Georg stopped his car in front of him and opened the door.

The man immediately came close, holding his umbrella over Georg's head. "Admiral von Trapp?" He bowed. "My name is Alistair Higgins. I'm Lord Fenswick's secretary. I am sorry to say that his Excellency is not available at the moment. May I help you?"

"Where is Lord Fenswick?" Georg demanded to know.

"Ahm …" The secretary obviously was surprised by Georg's harsh tone. "I am afraid his Excellency is not in the embassy today."

"And I'm afraid you're lying!" Georg replied bluntly and closed the car door again. Liesl had once, in a letter, described the Embassy, the former palace of an Austrian count. Hence Georg knew that the Ambassador and his family didn't live in the big mansion but in a smaller house at the back of the park. Turning the engine back on, Georg steered his jeep to the left where a gravel walk led around the palace and the garden. At the end of it, Georg saw a smaller house, painted in yellow, with French windows. At its side was parked a green sports car. Georg snorted – and letting his jeep stop next to the Jaguar – he jumped out and walked to the door.

He was prepared to meet up with a butler who certainly would tell him about "his Excellency" not being available too, but nobody answered his knocking. Reaching for the door knob, he turned it and found it – to his amazement – unlocked. So he entered the hall and looked around. On the left side were doors, leading – as Georg knew from Liesl's letter – to the dining room, the living rooms, the music salon with the grand piano, Christopher's private study and the pantry. On the right side a staircase led up to the nursery and the bedrooms.

Just as Georg was considering where to start his search for the master of the house, he heard the clicking of high heels on the marble stairs and turned around. A platinum blonde woman in her thirties, wearing a black leather coat over a cheap red dress which clung to her lush body like a second skin, came down, stopped when she saw Georg and stared at him. "Oh! – you scared the bejesus out of me! Who are you?" she asked.

"Georg von Trapp, at your service!" Georg answered ironically, taking his cover off and performing a little bow. Although he had never been one to use the services of "professional ladies," he hadn't been a seaman for nothing. He recognized a prostitute when he saw one, though this one looked rather worn out and tired.

She was moving again now, yawning behind a hand that sported very long nails with red polish. "You don't incidentally know where I can get a cab here? I'm not familiar with this area of the city."

"Oh yes, I can imagine. It's not exactly where you normally earn your money," Georg replied.

"Oh, who do we have here?" Christopher leaned against the upper landing. "My father-in-law, doing what he does best: telling other people off with all the arrogance he's graced with. And that's a lot!" He tried to bow, but staggered. "Welcome to my modest shack, oh noble knight!" Coming down the stairs on unsteady feet, he stopped next to the blonde and laid his arm around her shoulder, his left hand dangling down and fondling her breast."Sweetie, I'm afraid it's time for you to say 'farewell' and disappear. You know, the admiral here is the epitome of virtue. It didn't keep him from fathering a slut, but knowing him as the hypocrite he is, I'm pretty sure he won't enjoy your company – at least not while you're standing upright."

"Christopher! You're drunk!" In spite of his fury Georg was utterly shocked by his son-in-law's appearance. His blond hair, normally shiny and immaculately combed, hung in oily tresses around his head; his face was pale and the shadow of a beard made it look haggard, while his blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen. He wore only a crumpled, soiled shirt that was open over his bare chest and hung over black trousers that looked like he had slept in them. He was so obviously drunk that he had problems standing upright.

Leaning heavily on the prostitute's shoulder, his face a grimace, he sneered, "Yep, dear Georg, I'm as drunk as a skunk. Or as a lord? Or should I say I'm as drunk as a sailor? No, that wouldn't be suitable because you would never drink so much, would you?" Bending down he kissed the blonde's cheek. "It's a pity I'm so pissed, isn't it, sweetheart?" Looking once again at Georg, he proceeded, his voice slurred and tired: "I was even too hammered to have a go with this lovely lady. Despite her efforts – and I can assure you, she tried her best – I couldn't get it up. That's something that probably never happens to you, father-in-law, does it? You're not only the epitome of virtue, but a real paragon of masculinity and fertility, aren't you?" Once again bending to the woman he whispered – loud enough for Georg to hear – in her ear: "He's a hero, this father-in-law of mine, in and out of uniform! He sunk many ships and fathered even more children – and all in his marriage bed! Or so at least he says …"

"Christopher!" Georg's voice sounded like a whip. "Shut up!"

He actually hadn't really hoped that Christopher would obey, but he turned around and, without saying another word, staggered up the stairs. Georg sighed and looked at the blonde who was now coming down.

"I don't know what happened here," she said, looking nervously up at the landing where Christopher had just disappeared, "and it's certainly no business of mine, but that man up there is real unhappy. I found him in the park this morning when I was on my way home." She opened her bag and, carefully, as if she were afraid of it, she took a pistol out and handed it to Georg. "Here – it's his. He was pacing back and forth sort of glassy-eyed and despondent with this gun in his hand when I saw him. He looked ... empty. I was afraid he might hurt himself, so I persuaded him to give me the gun and to buy me a drink. I thought he'd talk to me then, but he didn't. Instead he gulped a bottle of brandy down and then he asked me to come with him."

"I understand," Georg said flatly. Actually he didn't. He still didn't have the slightest idea what could have happened to get his son-in-law in such a state. But one thing he was now sure of: Christopher was indeed terribly unhappy.

"No, I don't think you do," the woman disagreed. "But I don't either. It's true what he said though: he didn't cheat on your daughter – though I believe a woman who drives a man so far deserves to be cheated on. He wasn't able to and I don't think it was only because he was so drunk. Whatever your daughter did to that poor sod up there, he's obviously still smitten with her. He fell asleep before I left him and in his sleep he kept saying her name – Elisabeth, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Georg took the pistol, opened the magazine, let the bullets drop into his hand and put them in the pocket of his trousers. "You're right," he said then with a sigh. "I don't understand what happened here. I get that he is terribly unhappy, but so is my daughter." Putting the pistol on the sideboard, he straightened his shoulders. "Anyway – I must thank you. You probably saved his life." Breathing deeply, he asked, "Did you get your money?"

"No, he fell asleep. But it's okay – I book it under 'good deeds done' and hope it will count someday," the woman tried to smile.

"No, it's not okay. You at least need some money for a cab." Georg pulled a few notes out of his pocket and handed them to her. "Here."

The woman took the notes and put them in her bag. "Thank you." Once again her eyes travelled up the landing. "You'll look after him, won't you? I think he's a good man."

"He's the father of my grandchildren," Georg answered and led her to the door. "Thank you again. I think you're a good woman."

The blonde laughed bitterly. "I'm a whore, but even whores don't like good men shooting themselves."

* * *

After the woman was gone, Georg slipped out of his coat and hung it over one of the chairs next to the sideboard. Sighing he stood in the hall, thinking about what to do next. All the way from Salzburg to Vienna he had been driven by rage, but now – it wouldn't have taken the blonde woman for him to see that Christopher was close to a breakdown. And the pistol lying on the sideboard now – Georg didn't even want to think about what it would have meant for Liesl if Christopher had used it. Despite all that happened between them: Christopher was her husband, the father of her children and the man she loved – probably deeper than she had ever loved anyone else.

Stretching his back – the long drive hadn't done it any good – Georg decided to try to get his son-in-law back into a state where he could have a sensible talk with him. Searching for the kitchen – from long experience with drunken comrades, Georg knew that a pot of strong coffee could do wonders for a man's condition – he wondered once again what had caused Christopher's behaviour. The longer he mused over it, the less he believed it to be simply due to jealousy. Georg remembered a little scene after the concert in Salzburg. The conductor had been all over Liesl at the party, complimenting her, kissing her hand and slobbering over her décolletage. Georg was sure: if a man had acted this way around Maria, he would have been jealous and he would have shown the rascal to whom Maria belonged. Yet Christopher had only been amused and had even teased Liesl about her admirer. He certainly wasn't as possessive about his wife as Georg always had been.

Besides Georg knew his daughter. Liesl was a beautiful young woman, but she had never been coquettish or flirtatious. Georg simply couldn't imagine that she would have given Christopher reason to believe that she was conducting an affair. And her relationship with Finlay – of course, it had been adultery, but the circumstances had been rather special. Christopher knew that and he had defended her about that time and again! So he couldn't take her for a loose woman because of that, could he?

Putting a kettle with water on the stove and spooning coffee into a pot, Georg shook his head. It was said that drunks spoke the truth. Christopher's ranting about Georg's masculinity – had it only been caused by his having failed with the prostitute? Or was there more behind it?

While searching for cups, Georg suddenly remembered Senator Denton back in Washington. The politician from Texas was widely known, and in society even feared, for always telling rather tasteless jokes. Once, at a dinner in the English embassy, he had told one about a man with "performance problems" and had – as always – laughed most about it before he had slapped Christopher's shoulder and – still roaring with laughter – saying: "Well, you wouldn't know about such a problem, would you? You're English and with you it's probably 'No sex please, we're British!'"

At the time Georg hadn't thought much about the reaction of the two Englishmen in the room. He had registered that Christopher's eyes had become cold and his smile forced as he had answered, "And nevertheless some of us procreate." The ambassador had quickly changed the subject – but before he had done so, he had looked at his second-in-command. And now, thinking back on it, Georg was aware that the ambassador had looked at Christopher as if he were worried about him. And the way he had lain his hand on his minister's shoulder then – Georg had seen that gesture before: on the night of Georg's first appearance at the British embassy, when Christopher had tried to hide that he was suffering from malaria, the ambassador had acted in the same protective way!

Was it possible that Christopher suffered from a problem in the southern area of his body? A problem his ambassador in Washington knew about? The two had been quite close and had known each other for years.

On the other hand: Georg had heard rumours about Christopher being a "lady's man" before he had married. People had talked – of course confidentially – about an affair between him and the beautiful Dame Solveig Coulter and there had been some gossip about a mistress in New York and some trouble with a girl in England. Besides: wouldn't Liesl know about such problems? If Christopher were unable to perform, she wouldn't have become pregnant. Or would she?

Georg was experienced enough to know that one didn't always need to go all the way to father a child, especially not with a partner as fertile as his daughter. As someone who hadn't only sired ten children himself but had dealt with stallions and bred horses, Georg knew that one tiny little sperm finding its way through was enough.

The coffee was ready. Georg took the pot and the cup he had found in one of the closets and went up the stairs. He didn't need to search for the master bedroom – its door was open and out of the adjoining bathroom Georg heard the unmistakable sound of someone retching. Putting the coffee pot and the cup down on the table at the window, Georg looked around and sighed. The room was a mess with the bed unmade, clothes strewn over the floor – even the red band of Christopher's St. George order lay there – and an empty brandy bottle on the bed. There were also fragments of broken glass on the floor and a silver frame. Georg picked it up and saw a photograph of Liesl, the glass that had covered it destroyed. With a sigh Georg placed the photograph on the book shelf against the wall and collected the fragments, putting them into the overflowing ashtray on the nightstand.

As Georg entered the bathroom Christopher was still vomiting, kneeling in front of the toilet and looking totally miserable.

"One shouldn't drink so much when one can't hold the stuff tolerably well," Georg told him, filled a glass with water, wetted a towel and handed Christopher both.

"You know, Admiral, you're the last person I want to deal with right now!" Christopher retched again, but then looked up at Georg, his face as white as the tiles behind him. "I don't know what you want here, but I really wish you'd go away! Doesn't your daughter want to cry on your shoulder?"

"Maria is with her," Georg answered. "I think we need to talk. Can you get up or shall I help you?"

"Thank you very much! I don't need your help!" Christopher hissed, tried to stand up, and promptly bumped his head against the wall.

Georg reached for his arm, just catching it before Christopher could fall. "So much for that!" he commented dryly and led Christopher to the bedroom where he helped him sit down in one of the chairs. Pouring a cup of coffee, he gave it to him. "Drink that!"

Christopher submissively took a sip and shuddered. "Ugh – it's ghastly! It tastes like tar!" Studying the contents of the cup, he added, "It even looks like tar!"

"It will sober you up, so drink!" Georg ordered.

"Perhaps I don't want to become sober?" Christopher asked, but drank nevertheless. Bracing his head on his hands, he looked at Georg. "Well, you can start your speech now. The sooner we get it done, the earlier I can go to sleep."

"What kind of speech am I supposed to make?" Georg replied calmly.

"Don't you want to tell me how dreadfully I treated this innocent, sweet daughter of yours and how utterly shocked you were about finding me with a whore? Didn't it confirm to you what you already knew about the lack of morality and decency in my family? On the other hand, come to think of it: the thing with the whore you ought to like. It will make it easier for your daughter to divorce me."

Georg filled Christopher's cup again and shoved it over to him. "I think you need a lot more coffee before you're able to talk sense and answer a few questions."

"Questions?" Christopher took the cup and drank. "My dear Admiral, don't you think you should ask your daughter some questions first? How about this one, for example : Why did she try to fool me? I mean, she wasn't doing badly at it, I must say. She's a talented actress. I really fell for her—fell hard, I have to admit. Only I don't get _why_ she played this game with me."

"And I don't get what you're talking about!" Georg snorted. He was becoming angry again.

"Well, Admiral, then let me explain: A few months ago your daughter more or less crawled into my bed. Probably she was bored or hadn't gotten a better offer or whatever. Anyway, since then your daughter and I have been – as they _wouldn't_ say at court – rutting like rabbits whenever we got a chance. Your daughter was quite enthusiastic …"

"Christopher!" Once again Georg's tone was a warning. "I don't think I like the way you're talking about my daughter."

A bitter laugh was his answer. "Are you afraid to lose your delusions about her, Admiral?"

"No," Georg answered coolly. "I'm rather afraid I'll lose my composure and do something drastic to teach you some manners!"

For a moment Christopher fell silent. Then he sighed and looked up. "Sorry, Admiral. It's probably not her fault, but mine. I was delusional enough to believe that one day she would perhaps love me back. Besides, I had once given her permission to search for her fun elsewhere. I told her once that I only expected discretion. And as far as that is concerned, I can't complain about her. The idea of her having an affair would never have crossed my mind if not for her becoming pregnant."

Georg got up. Once again he needed to move. Walking to the window and looking out at the garden, he said, "Love you back, Christopher? Are you trying to tell me that you love Elisabeth?"

Once again Christopher didn't answer, but looked down at his bare feet. Then he stood up, walked over to the bed and let himself fall onto it. Looking up at the ceiling he finally replied, "Yes, I do love Elisabeth. I still do and probably will for a long, long time." Laying his hand over his eyes, he proceeded, "It's quite foolish of me, isn't it? I was the one who swore to himself ten years ago that I would never let this happen to me again. But here we are – and although it makes me feel like hell, I love her. I'd still crawl over broken glass if it would make her love me back." He breathed deeply. "Do you remember the first night we met? When we came into your house to tell you about our marriage?"

Somehow Georg understood that Christopher was still drunk, but not so drunk he didn't know what he was saying. However, he was intoxicated enough to have lost his usual reserve. Although Georg had no idea where the conversation would lead, he didn't want to stop it, so he answered cautiously, "Of course I remember."

"I hadn't only married her because I felt obliged. I married her for the child too. I've always wanted to have one. However, that night at your house, I fell in love with Elisabeth. When she stood up – to tell you the truth – I was completely blown away. I watched her, thinking: 'That's it, Fenswick. That's the woman you've been waiting for: brave, honest, caring, kind, intelligent and breathtakingly lovely.' And then, when Allegra was born and Elisabeth put her in my arms, smiling at me and calling me 'Daddy' – it was probably the happiest moment of my life." Christopher's voice had become soft and sad. "I didn't tell her how I felt. I knew she was still mourning for my brother and I didn't want to endanger the friendship we'd built up. Yet I hoped that with her having Allegra I would be man enough for her and that she would learn to love me."

He fell silent again, just laying there with his arm over his eyes, but Georg saw that there was a tear running down his cheek. He looked away, knowing that Christopher would later feel humiliated thinking that he had cried in front of his father-in-law, the man he had never liked much. Slowly he said, "I don't understand all of this, Christopher. Liesl says she loves you. You say you love her and you wanted Allegra. So what the hell went wrong? What's the problem?"

"The child, father-in-law. The child is the problem. It can't be mine."

"What?" Georg turned around and walked over to the bed, sitting down on the chair that stood in front of it. "You don't mean to tell me that my daughter cheated on you and lied to me! What led you to such a ridiculous, idiotic idea?"

Christopher only stared at the ceiling.

"Christopher!" Georg almost yelled at him, losing his patience.

Christopher sighed. "You know that I was injured in India, don't you? Two bullets – the first one damaged my lungs, the second hit me," he pointed to his crotch, "here. It missed my prick but nevertheless made quite a mess out of this part of my body and left behind a rather ugly scar. And no, before you ask: your daughter doesn't know about. I've gotten pretty good at hiding it."

Georg breathed deeply. He was a man himself and therefore he could imagine what it meant to be hit there! "You said before you had intimate relations with Liesl," he said cautiously. "So you're obviously able to …"

"Most of the time, yes," Christopher replied. "But the bullet destroyed my left spermatic duct and damaged both of my testicles. According to the surgeons who tried to sew me together, I'm infertile. Considering that – pray tell me how I could have fathered the child your daughter is bearing."

Georg closed his eyes for a moment. The more he heard, the less sense the entire story seemed to make. "I still can't believe that Liesl cheated on you and lied to me," he said quietly. "Isn't it possible that you've healed? The injury is rather old, isn't it? Sometimes the body is able to undergo amazing healing processes."

"It was 19 years ago that I was shot. However," Christopher breathed deeply, turned around and sat up on the side of the bed, "the diagnosis of 'infertility' is more recent. I got it once again ten years ago – nine years after the injury and after my body had done a great deal of healing. I actually had started to hope that somehow my testicles might have started to work again. But, to quote the woman I wanted to marry then: I'm a dud. Not a real man. Not fit for marriage." His eyes were filled with pain and he bent down and picked the empty brandy bottle up. Looking at it, he shrugged his shoulders. "Too bad – I could do with another drink."

"I don't think that would be a good idea." Georg felt rather confused. He needed time to think – and probably more information. Slowly he said: "I didn't know you were engaged once ."

"Not only once," Christopher answered. "My tale is a sad one, including two failed engagements, a ruined marriage and no happy end in sight. And all because of one little bullet – it would have been better if it had hit me a few centimetres higher!" He laid his hand on his heart. "Or in the head – that wouldn't have been bad either."

Still Georg didn't know what to think. There was something more to this story – he knew it. If only he could put his finger on it! "Tell me about your engagements," he said. Perhaps he would find what he was searching for in Christopher's past, which had obviously been rather miserable.

"Well, why not? If I can't have a drink, I can at least bore you with the story of my failed love life," Christopher laid back again. "Here we go, starting with the lovely Felicity, who was my first love. She was 16 and I was 17 and she was the sister of my best friend and everyone thought we made a cute couple. When I was 22 and had gotten my doctorate, we got engaged and then I joined the Blues and was sent to India."

"Where you got injured?" asked Georg after Christopher had once again fallen silent.

"Yes. Beginner's luck: I was only there for four months when my post was attacked. Stupid as only young men can be, I was the first to go against the attackers – and three days later I woke up in the military hospital as an invalid: lungs damaged; the private parts in shambles. I was transported back to England, had a few surgeries and a few months in the hospital and then I was told by my doctor that I was impotent with very little chance of healing. Of course I offered to release my fiancée from our engagement. But Felicity refused, telling me that she loved me and would stay with me. And everyone applauded so much virtue and the lady basked in the glory of her near sainthood. Only sainthood becomes rather boring after a while and so she started to fool around with a comrade of mine. Two days before the wedding I caught her _in flagrante delicto_ and was told by my bride-to-be that I shouldn't begrudge her a bit of fun, not being a real man myself anymore. Unfortunately I'd been brought up an only child, so I was never good at sharing. I refused to marry her and so engagement number one was over."

"I'm sorry," Georg said. "It must have been very hard for you."

"I survived – as you see." Christopher got up and walked to the bathroom, pouring himself a glass of water. Coming back with it, he sat down once more on the side of the bed. "I went to Oxford then, wrote my first book, was offered the Linley chair, became a professor and spent my time working. However, around five years later I woke up one morning with something like an erection. It wasn't a real one, but it was the first time since the attack that I felt something like that down there. First I didn't dare to hope, but it happened more and more often and …" He blushed and studied his bare feet, wriggling his toes.

"Let me guess: one day it became clear that you'd overcome impotence," Georg helped out.

"Yes, at least partly," Christopher replied. "The erections I got still weren't perfect and reliable – but well, after five years of impotence I was just glad that I felt something again. Then, around four or five years later, I met Valerie. She was a colleague from Paris who had come to Oxford for a year as a guest. We fell in love, I proposed to her – I really wanted to get married because I was fed up with being all on my own. Of course, before I proposed I told Valerie about my problem. She asked me to see a doctor and so I did a few tests – and found that I still wasn't producing sperm. First Valerie said she didn't mind. I proposed, we landed in bed – and there she minded because I couldn't get it up. And then it became even worse when she discovered the scar. She felt repulsed, we had an argument, and it got nasty. So my second engagement ended."

Georg leaned back. "I think I understand your reluctance about marriage now. However, you obviously got the performance problem solved."

"Yes, I did," Christopher nodded. "After the fiasco with Valerie I got myself a mistress – a nice, experienced lady who didn't mind the scar and lending me a helping hand now and then. She kind of 'trained' me up again and after a year with her I felt better. However, I didn't want to fall in love anymore and I even didn't want to marry anymore. What kind of woman would want to have a man who can't give her children?"

"Therefore you didn't have a problem with accepting Allegra as your child!" Georg said.

"She's a Fenswick," Christopher replied. "But that's not the only reason. I like children and I wanted a family. And for me it actually is enough that Allegra is Elisabeth's child. You know, I sometimes thought about another one – I considered if I could perhaps persuade Elisabeth to find a man to give her one."

Georg shook his head. "I don't think she would have liked that. And I certainly wouldn't have liked it either. However, Christopher, I absolutely refuse to believe that Liesl lied to you and me!"

Christopher shrugged his shoulders. "Did you see a bright, new star in the sky? I mean, the last time a woman got pregnant without having been impregnated by a man, it was there."

Georg got up. "Christopher, I want you to see a doctor as soon as possible. I firmly believe your injury has healed. You must be fertile – and if you love Liesl you're going to have it checked again."

to be continued


	26. Chapter 26

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

AN: Sorry for the delay! My beta-reader and I were very busy in real life.

_**Chapter 26: Pater semper incertas**_

December 1945

Maria sometimes said that Georg had a "weird sense of humour." And Max Detweiler, as Georg's closest friend and certainly someone who knew him very well, had now and then even called this humour "morbid."

Indeed, sitting in the waiting room of the urology department of the American military hospital in Vienna and watching his son-in-law pace around made Georg almost chuckle. Of course, he was aware how dire the situation was – though he, in contrast to Christopher, was sure of its outcome – and he felt an almost fatherly affection for the tortured soul who was his eldest daughter's husband. Nevertheless he couldn't help but see the comical elements in what had happened in the last three hours.

It had been he who had offered to Christopher to get him an appointment at the American hospital – there they could be sure o the competence and the discretion of the doctors - yet he wouldn't have thought that Christopher would want to be accompanied there. However, he had asked: "Will you come with me?"

Georg had nodded. "Of course. If you need me to hold your hand …"

"Actually I'll need both of my hands for what I have to do there!" Christopher had said, looked at Georg – and then they had both started to laugh, first awkwardly and then so loudly that other people had looked at them. In the end Christopher had needed to wipe a tear away and, shaking his head, he had said: "If someone would have once prophesied to me that I …"

"Oh, if someone had told me that I would offer to hold your hand while …" Georg had added and promptly both had started to laugh again.

This time Georg had stopped first and, taking the wine bottle that stood between them on the table and looking at Christopher's empty glass, he had offered it to him. Yet Christopher had shaken his head: "I'd like to get drunk," he had admitted. "Only alcohol and my sensitive equipment have never agreed. But afterwards I'll go get boozed!"

"So will I!" Georg had grinned. "I'll ply myself with champagne until you need to hold my hand!"

"Too bad we're rather far away from Salzburg. I'd actually like to see your wife's face if I brought you home drunk," Christopher had replied.

They had sat at dinner in a secluded corner of a little Hungarian restaurant near the Hofburg and Georg, washing the very spicy goulash down with Tokayer, had smiled. "I'm sure Maria would understand it – and be glad she got me home at all."

"After three days she's probably already missing you." Christopher had become serious. "Perhaps you should have gone home already. I mean, I promised you to see the doctor and I can also promise you that I won't shoot myself whatever the test result says. You really mustn't stay anymore – though I'm grateful that you were there last night," he had admitted, blushing.

It had been then that Georg had become aware that he wasn't only with Christopher for Liesl's sake anymore. Although Christopher was only a few years his junior, Georg had developed fatherly feelings for him. As he had told Georg the story about his coming back from India, Georg had thought of Friedrich, who was still out in the war. He was just as old as Christopher had been when he had been injured. And Georg had seen his son in his mind's eye, blond, blue-eyed, tall and lanky. Christopher Fenswick had once been such a blond, blue-eyed boy too, and in the contrast to Friedrich he hadn't even had a family to support him. Georg knew from Liesl that Christopher's father had left him while he was still a boy and that he had lost his mother at a very young age too.

How had he gone through an experience as horrible and traumatizing as his? Georg was a man too and although he had always ruled over the needs of his body with iron will-power, he couldn't deny how important sexuality was in his life. He remembered only too well how much he had missed their sweet hours after Agathe's death, how often he had awakened at night with a raging, aching erection and how he had suffered through the time of his engagement to Maria. He had hardly spent one evening with her without needing a long, cold shower before he could go to bed and he had often enough needed all his self-discipline to keep him from ravishing her. During this time he had often cursed his body, making it responsible for the need and longing. But then in Malta, after he had come back from the Adriatic Sea, he had learned something. Maria had wanted him and he had longed to be with her. Only his body had failed him and he had finally understood that it wasn't his member which made for the craving and need, but his head. Even when his body had been too battered and exhausted to react to his wife's touches and kisses, his head had wanted her and longed for the unique connection and the pleasure which could only be received by sleeping with Maria, by burying himself deeply in her warm, willing body.

To think of that and then of Christopher and what he had gone through, used, left and even mocked by the girls he had loved, without a family to provide at least a little comfort and warmth, had filled him with sympathy for the younger man. How had he born with his handsome, careless younger brother and his flirts? How had it felt to him to see his friends getting married and having children while he was still alone with no chance of ever having a family himself? Christopher had gone through hell and back – and nevertheless he had built up a career, written a book, taught, and served his country again. Despite all the disappointment and pain he was still able to be caring father to his brother's child, he was still able to love and to hope.

On the first night Georg had spent in Christopher's house – he really hadn't dared to leave him alone after what he had heard from the prostitute – he had developed respect for his son-in-law. Yet there had been something else too: Christopher had allowed Georg to see his vulnerability – and in so doing, he had awoken Georg's protectiveness. Christopher was a member of the von Trapp clan. And as head of the von Trapp family Georg couldn't stand by when one of them was in trouble. Once it had been Christopher who had rescued Liesl and saved the family from a scandal. Now Georg felt obliged to help Christopher.

Therefore he was, now, still at his side. The day before he had called Maria and asked her to cancel all his appointments on Monday and Tuesday. Nothing, not even his beloved Salzburg, could now be as important to him his family. And although he hadn't given Maria any details – Christopher's story certainly wasn't something to talk about on phone – she had understood and as always supported him, saying: "Of course you must stay, Georg. Don't worry about us! Liesl is unhappy, but we're all with her and together we'll make it through."

Only Georg wasn't sure that Christopher would make it through. He had sat down now, head bowed, shoulders sagging, his hands trembling in his lap. "Why is it taking so long?" he asked, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. And then he looked up, his eyes still bloodshot and tired. "I can't stand it any longer. Georg. I don't want to know anymore. It doesn't matter! The child is Elisabeth's and Allegra's sibling and who cares about the genetics? You know the Romans said 'Pater semper incertas' (1). It's not important. It's pure biology and we both know that biology doesn't make a father. Just think of my progenitor. Or think of your Stephan. Do you love him less than your biological children? Do you care less about him than about Friedrich, Kurt, Johannes and Phillip? To me it never mattered that Allegra isn't my biological child. I love her and I love Elisabeth …"

Georg laid his hand on Christopher's arm and interrupted his rambling, his voice gentle, but firm: "You love Elisabeth – and therefore you'll bear with the waiting as long as it takes. Do it for her, Christopher! You owe it to her to go through that, as hard as it certainly is for you."

For a moment Christopher was silent, looking at Georg's hand on his arm. "I shouldn't have let it come this far! I should have trusted her. She'll probably never forgive me that I didn't. I hurt her – I hurt her so badly! I said horrible things; I lashed out at her with the intent to hurt her …"

"You were hurt yourself," Georg tried to console him, but to no avail.

Christopher didn't even seem to hear him. "I'd understand if she never wanted to see me again. After what I said and did – I brought a whore into our house and into our bed!"

For a moment Georg fought with himself. He had always believed in honesty as the foundation of a happy marriage. Yet in this case – Liesl was so young and despite being a married woman and a mother she was quite inexperienced. Did she really need to know about the prostitute? Georg wasn't sure, and for a moment he wished he could talk with Maria about it. She wasn't much older than Liesl, but she had always possessed wisdom far beyond her years. But she wasn't there whereas Christopher was, torturing himself.

Georg cleared his throat. "I wouldn't tell her about that, Christopher. You were drunk and besides – nothing happened."

"You know why nothing happened!" Christopher closed his eyes and swallowed. "It certainly wasn't because I didn't want it! Besides our definition of 'nothing' seems to differ! Would you call a woman performing oral sex on you 'nothing' only because you couldn't get it up? No, Georg. If I'm to have a new chance with Elisabeth, I can't start with a lie! She will ask me what I did after she left – and what am I to answer then? And what will you tell Maria if she asks you how you found me?"

Georg straightened his shoulders. "I wouldn't tell Maria a lie, but I'd tell her that this is between you and me. She would accept that."

"Yes, but what about my wife? After what I've done to her she deserves to make a clear choice. She deserves to know what kind of man I really am and then decide if she wants to give me another chance."

"Christopher!" Georg shook his head. "Give her some credit! She knows what kind of a man you are! Even I've figured out by now that you're a brave, honourable man."

"Oh?" Christopher laughed bitterly. "I should have gotten myself a whore earlier if that finally made me win your approval."

Georg once again shook his head. "You shouldn't try sarcasm with me. I've done that myself too often and so I know what's behind it."

Christopher got up and started to pace again. With his back to Georg he asked: "Did you ever think about shooting yourself? It's the coward's way out, isn't it? And so certainly it's nothing Austria's great naval hero Georg von Trapp ever thought about …"

Slowly Georg stood up too and went over to the window where Christopher stood. "You're wrong, Christopher. In the first weeks after my first wife's death I didn't know how to live without her. I wished I could follow her to wherever she was. Only there were seven children who needed me …"

"I didn't think of Allegra!" Christopher almost yelled. "I even didn't think of Elisabeth. I only wanted this miserable existence of mine to end, to blow my brains out and to be done."

"But you didn't blow your brains out, Christopher!" Georg said firmly. "You're still here and still fighting – and that's not how a coward acts!"

"You should have become a priest, Georg!" Christopher snorted, walked back to the chair and fell down on it. "You're good at dealing with confessions."

Georg laughed tiredly. "I think I'd fail in a lot of other necessary requirements."

"Like chastity?"

"For example!" Georg nodded.

At just that moment the door opened. A young man in the white uniform of an orderly entered. "Mr. Fenswick?"

Christopher was immediately on his feet, even more colour draining from his face. "Yes?"

"Dr. Miller would like to talk to you. If you'd please follow me?" Seeing Georg now, the orderly stood at attention. "Admiral!"

"At ease!" Georg laid his hand on Christopher's shoulder. "Go ahead. I'll wait here."

"No! Please …" Christopher searched for words. "Could you … I mean, I'd like to have you with me."

"Of course. If you want me to." Georg felt as if he were comforting a terrified child.

* * *

The older doctor who awaited Christopher in his office was obviously amazed to see the legendary Admiral von Trapp enter too. His eyes clearly showed contempt for what he probably thought was an overbearing father-in-law and for a moment it looked as if he wanted to ignore military protocol. Yet Georg's staring at him made him rise reluctantly out of the chair and stand at attention. "Admiral."

"Colonel." Georg saluted back. "As you were."

With a wave of his hand the doctor offered the two men a seat in the chairs in front of his desk, and then he turned to Christopher. "Lord Fenswick, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"No, thank you." Christopher sat down, looking like a delinquent waiting for the death sequence. His hands gripped the wings of the chair so firmly that his knuckles were white. "What is the result?" he asked, his voice shaking.

The doctor started to rummage through his papers and placed his spectacles on his nose. Georg, who had sat down on the chair next to Christopher, felt like throttling him. What the devil did the man need so long for? Couldn't he see how difficult the waiting was for his patient?

Now the doctor looked up and sighed. "Christopher – I may call you Christopher, may I not? I'm afraid the results aren't good. We repeated the test twice, but it didn't change its outcome: Your chances to father a child are practically nil. Let me explain it to you …"

Georg couldn't help it. He saw that Christopher was close to a breakdown and so he interrupted: "'Practically nil' doesn't mean there is no chance at all?"

The doctor obviously was irritated. Furrowing his brow, he looked at Georg and replied testily: "If you would simply let me explain, Admiral?"

Georg breathed deeply. He had never suffered windbags gladly and this one was certainly trying his patience. "Can't you answer a simple question, Colonel?" he asked sharply.

"First: The answer isn't so simple. Second: I don't know how it is any business of yours, Admiral! Your military authority doesn't reach so far it could break the confidence between a doctor and his patient, especially not in a matter so private. Besides I doubt that Lord Fenswick is under your command."

Georg felt like giving the man a severe dressing down, but Christopher was quicker. "I want the Admiral here. Besides I'd really like to know: Am I able to sire a child or not?"

The doctor rolled his eyes. "As I said: It isn't as simple as that. There's always a big difference between theory and practise and in this case, it matters."

"Doesn't it always?" Georg couldn't resist snorting. The man was really getting on his nerves and if he hadn't been worried about distressing Christopher, he would have liked to tell him off.

The doctor scowled at him, leaned back and folded his hands over his belly. "The problem in this case is," he started once again, "that in theory you're able to father a child, Christopher. Only in practise your chances are – as I've said before – very bad."

Christopher didn't look too well. He had braced his head on his hand, hiding his eyes behind his palm, obviously trying to regain his composure. Slowly he said: "Very bad isn't impossible, doctor."

"Indeed. Nevertheless you shouldn't get your hopes up. I'll give you a few facts to make it more understandable to you: A healthy young man's semen normally has around 40 million sperm with around half of them mobile – and them being mobile is the precondition for arriving at the egg to fertilize it. From this number we can count down to say that a healthy man has around ten million sperm in one millilitre of semen with around five million of them mobile. However, it doesn't require that many of them to impregnate a woman – from experience we know that 30 percent of the average mobile sperm should do without any problems whereas with 20 percent the chancesalready aren't good anymore – in such a case we would advise the couple to concentrate on her fertile days. With 10 percent of the average, the chances are even worse, and with less you need a very fertile wife and a lot of luck." He once again rummaged in his papers, held a sheet up and looked at Christopher. "In your case, Christopher, it's around three percent of mobile sperm. That makes it theoretically possible for you to father a child, but in reality I really wouldn't count on it. If you want to try, I'd advise you: Don't drink, don't smoke and spare yourself three or four days before your wife's fertile days. We suppose that only one your testicles is functional, so you should give it a bit of time to store some sperm before you try anything. And even then, you shouldn't go out and buy a crib yet – as I've said: Your chances are pretty low."

Stepping out of the hospital into the crisp air of the winter day, Georg looked at Christopher, who hadn't said a word since they had left the doctor's office. "How do you feel now, Christopher?"

The younger man slipped on his gloves and pulled his scarf closer around his neck. "Honestly, Georg? I should probably jump for joy, but I only feel drained, exhausted and terribly ashamed. I don't know how I shall face Elisabeth."

Georg stepped to his car and opened the door on the passenger's side. "How about buying the biggest bunch of roses you can find and coming with me to Salzburg? The sooner you tell her, the better for both of you."

Christopher entered the car and waited until Georg had gotten in too. "Do you really believe she'll take me back?"

"I'm sure she will," Georg smiled at Christopher. "You are the father of her children – and by the way: Congratulations on the second one! So what about the roses? Any idea where to get some?"

For the first time in three days Christopher displayed a real, but still very small smile: "I didn't know you were a romantic, Admiral. However, it's December. I don't think we'll find any roses. Besides your daughter's favourite flowers aren't roses, but hyacinths – at least in winter. Where to get some of _them_, I do know – we have a hothouse at the embassy."

"Well, then," Georg started the car's engine, "let's go to the embassy. You'll get the flowers, tell your secretary you'll be away for a few days, pack a clean shirt and your toothbrush, and then we'll be off for Salzburg!"

* * *

The snow falling down from the grey sky was wet and heavy, melting as soon as it hit the roofs and streets. It didn't cover the damage the bombs had done and it didn't hide the black wounds left behind by the fires. The water dripping down only made the ruins look as if they were crying. And where once the streets had been crowded with tourists, a bony chestnut, its head hanging and its ribs clearly visible beneath its shaggy coat, pulled a carriage filled with debris. A woman dressed in a worn, grey coat that once had been a soldier's uniform walked tiredly beside the horse, now and then patting its neck in a gesture that looked resigned and sad.

On the opposite site of the street in front of the destroyed Cathedral a few children came along, obviously on their way to school. They stopped to watch a jeep with the American flag on its doors drive down the road. It stopped in front of them and the children gathered around, looking hopefully at a chubby, blond sergeant who grinned at them. Reaching behind him, he took a few bananas and oranges out of a bag and gave them to the children.

Christopher watched the scene from his window in the Hotel "Goldener Hirsch" and smiled when he saw how a little girl with blond braids carefully put one of the bananas in her bag and thanked the giver with a curtsy and a big, toothless smile before she ran after her friends. Although she was a few years older and blond, she reminded Christopher of Allegra. Yet the thought of her made him sigh, and stepping away from the window he sat down at the table where the breakfast waited which a friendly older woman had brought just half an hour earlier. Christopher had already drunken a cup of coffee, but he couldn't get himself to eat anything. He wasn't hungry, and the longer he thought about it, the more he doubted that coming to Salzburg had been a good idea.

Liesl certainly wouldn't want to see him. Even if she was willing to forgive him what he had done to her she would need time to overcome the pain his harsh, unjust words had caused her. Georg had meant well when he had persuaded Christopher to come with him, but he always tended to be rash. The famous von Trapp temper, combined with impatience, had made Georg hope that he would be able to solve the Fenswick marriage troubles as quickly as possible, but Christopher was pretty sure that a rift like the one he had caused would need time to heal. For now it would probably have been better to send Liesl the hyacinths and a written apology.

Georg would tell her what had happened – at the moment he was probably the only one Liesl would listen to. But she would need time to think about it. No one, not even her father, could expect her to overcome her disappointment and fury in only a few hours.

No, it had been a mistake coming to Salzburg. Christopher was sure he would feel better in Vienna. There he would have buried himself in work, writing all the reports he should have done over the weekend, reading all the papers piled on his desk, and probably even doing the budget planning. Work had always been his saviour. While working, he didn't need to think about his misery, he didn't need to face how greatly he had once again messed up and how bad he was at managing his private life. In his work he felt secure, in his office he knew that he was doing well and, there, no one ever doubted his authority or competence.

However, he wasn't in Vienna. He was in Salzburg, pacing through a lonely hotel room without anything to do. Georg had deposited him there the night before, telling him to lay low until further notice. At first Christopher had been glad about his father-in-law taking over. He had been so terribly exhausted, he had hardly managed to stand upright. After they had arrived at the hotel, Christopher had only slipped out of his coat, jacket and shoes, had opened his tie and then had fallen onto the bed, asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Only he hadn't been able to sleep for long. Around four o'clock his bladder had awakened him and from then on he had tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep again.

He had thought of the morning in the hospital and the memory had made his cheeks burn with shame. They had given him a glass, a bottle of lotion and a towel and then had sent him into a room with a bed, a chair, a table and a washstand. On the table he had found a few worn magazines with pictures of sparsely clothed woman, obviously put there to get him in the right mood to do what he was expected to. Only he had never, not even as a hormone-driven 17 year old at school, found such pictures arousing. Of course, he was a man, and in the last few years even once again a "functional" one, so in general he wasn't unfamiliar with pleasing himself. Yet doing it on command and in the knowledge that people were waiting – and perhaps even looking at their watches to see how long he was taking! – he found terribly unnerving.

Nevertheless he tried. Christopher closed his eyes and ordered himself for once not to think of England – he was pretty sure his superiors would find the situation he had gotten himself into highly inappropriate for his Majesty's ambassador – but to concentrate on the concrete task at hand (literally). And because it had worked a few times ago he tried to get himself into his favourite fantasy, the one where he was riding down to the secluded cove at Hollbridge to swim with his horse – something he had loved to do as a boy.

In his fantasy he wore only Jodhpur trousers and a shirt and the horse wasn't saddled, so he could feel its warmth on his legs. Cantering over the sand and around the rock that sheltered the cove from the wind he saw her: A beautiful woman who came out of the water, naked and looking like Botticelli's Venus at the famous painting. Long tresses of blonde hair clung wetly to her delicate, white skin; the pink nipples of her breasts were standing erect and proud. The woman smiled at him and opened her arms while he glided down from his horse and embraced her, his mouth tasting the salt on her skin as his lips searched for her mouth. They kissed passionately and sank down onto the sand, warmed by the sun, and she helped him out of his clothes before he started to kiss and to nibble at her breast and finally went down between her legs …

As Christopher arrived there in his mind, the fantasy had begun to have some effect. But his mind was straying and he couldn't help thinking of what the horse would do while he was with the woman. He was a rider and as such he wouldn't let his four-legged mate loose with its reins hanging down, especially not when the horse would perhaps go swimming and could entangle a foreleg in the reins.

However, thinking of the horse wasn't to his member's liking. It became limp again.

Christopher cursed and reminded himself of what Georg had said before he had left him: "Don't forget, my boy: You're going through that for Elisabeth."

Elisabeth – sometimes he had dreamed of taking her to the cove. She would sit behind him on his horse and he would ride with her into the foaming surge. In his dreams she laughed as the waves hit her naked legs and he got down from the horse and opened his arms to catch her. She clung to him, her long legs around his hips, her arms around his neck and they kissed, her lips soft and salty from the air, her tongue suckling at his and her core hot against his body.

Without breaking the kiss he carried her to the strand and tenderly laid her down. She slipped out of her light summer dress while he undid his shirt and trousers. As she lay in front of him, presenting him her petite body with the firm breasts and the dark triangle covering her mound, he kissed her and went down and she welcomed his mouth with spreading her legs and raising her hips towards him. He worshipped her with his tongue, enjoying that she tasted like the sea, and as she came, she cried his name and then she pulled him up, turned him around on his back and mounted him. Sweat glittered on her body and her breasts swayed as she rode him, her small hands braced against his chest and her eyes green-blue like the sea, beaming down at him. Her climax pulled him with her and whispering her name he felt the familiar, sweet, little ache at the base of his penis and then a hot rush of pleasure shooting through him.

Only a minute later, still panting, he became aware of the sticky, warm liquid on his hand and belly. Cursing, he reached for the glass and tried to get as much as possible into it before he cleaned himself with the towel, stood up and stalked over to the wash basin.

Later then, as he was tying his tie in front of the washbasin – this time dark red silk to reflect his mood – he looked at the mirror which showed him once again the familiar picture of an impeccably dressed English gentleman, only the dark shadows under his eyes betraying how desperate and lonely he had felt.

Now, in Salzburg, he was wearing a grey suit and a dark-blue tie. In front of his closet he had for a moment considered a tweed jacket with a sweater under it – the day was cold and he wasn't on duty – but then he had decided that he would feel better in a three-piece-suit. Ever since he had, as a young professor at Oxford, ordered his tailor to make his first one – after years of wearing either a uniform or tweed – these suits had become something like his armour. A proper suit made for proper countenance, and he wasn't only the Ambassador of his Majesty, but the eleventh Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge, offspring of a noble family who had – with the exception of the tenth Lord – always done its duty in dignity.

* * *

"Thank you, Father!" Liesl rose on her tiptoes and kissed Georg's cheek.

"Are you sure you'll manage on your own?" he asked anxiously, looking up at the façade of the hotel.

"Yes, Father – from here on I can do this on my own," Liesl assured him, feeling very touched by the concern and love she saw in his eyes. She felt very close to him at the moment and very grateful. When he had come into her room the night before – after she had wondered and worried for three days what he was doing in Vienna for so long – she hadn't known what to expect. And she had been amazed about seeing him so casual with a blue sweater over his blue uniform trousers. Yet what had amazed her even more was how he had sat down on the side of her bed, slipped out of his shoes, swung his stocking feet onto her bed, and offered his shoulder. "Come here, Liesl – it's a long story I have to tell you."

Then he had spoken about how he had found Christopher, drunk and desperate and how the prostitute had given him the pistol – and no, Liesl had been neither shocked nor appalled about the woman being in her house and even in her bed, but glad that she had saved Christopher's life. After three days of thinking, her fury toward Christopher had ceased and had been replaced by deep worry. Somehow she had known that there was more behind Christopher's reaction than stupid, petty jealousy. She had often enough seen the sadness in his eyes, and from his reluctance about becoming close to someone, she had already guessed that it hadn't only been caused by his parents but had come from hurt and pain he had experienced at the hands of a woman too.

As Georg had told her the entire story, Liesl had cried – not only in sympathy for the man she loved, but with rage about the women who had abused him so badly. And as Georg finally had asked her, "Do you think you'll be able to forgive him?" she had cried even more.

"Of course, Father! I love him – I did all the time and I don't think I'll ever stop. I want him to finally be happy!"

"Good," Georg had nodded and kissed her forehead. "I think he deserves some happiness – and so do you, my dearest Liesl."

Now her father was squeezing her shoulders gently. "Good luck, Liesl. If you need me, I'll be in my office all day. And don't you worry about Allegra: Maria adores having her to herself for once!" He gave her a playful slap on her backside. "Run and relieve that husband of yours! He's probably climbing the walls by now."

"Yes, Father." Liesl turned and entered the hotel's lobby where a rather bored-looking porter behind a counter was sorting the mail.

Hearing Liesl's steps he turned around, bowed and asked with a professional smile: "Guten Morgen, gnädiges Fräulein. What can I do for you?"

"I am Lady Fenswick, and I've come to see my husband."

"Of course. I'll call him." He reached for the phone.

Liesl stopped him. "Please – I don't think it's necessary to announce me. Lord Fenswick is expecting me. Just tell me where I might find him."

"Oh …" For a moment the porter was taken aback, but then it dawned on him. "I know you!" he exclaimed. "You're the singer and our admiral's daughter! Elisabeth von Trapp – that's your name, isn't it? I was in the Felsenreitschule when you sang there last summer. You were wonderful!"

"Thank you!" Liesl smiled at him though she was a bit impatient.

"Sorry, I shouldn't keep you. His lordship is in room 523. I'll ask the boy to lead you up." Turning he called for a page in a red uniform. "Sepp, accompany Lady Fenswick up to 523."

Once again Liesl thanked him and followed the boy to the lift, up to the fifth floor, and through a long hallway until he stopped in front of a door, pointing to the golden number 523. "Here, my lady." He bowed. "Have a pleasant stay at the Goldener Hirsch."

Liesl put a coin in his hand and then breathed deeply. Her heart was beating like mad and her knees were like pudding as she knocked at the door.

"Come in!"

Another deep breath, then Liesl opened the door and entered.

Christopher was sitting on the table, drinking a cup of coffee. When he saw her, he jumped to his feet, looking at her almost scared. "Elisabeth!" His voice wasn't more than a hoarse whisper and his eyes were so infinitely sad and hopeless that Liesl couldn't bear looking at them.

All morning she had worked on what she would say, but now she hadn't any words left. Running across the room she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and rising on her tiptoes to search for his mouth – and, heavens, why was he so tall and she so petite and why didn't he bend towards her? He stood as if frozen, motionless and his arms hanging down at his sides. Yet for once Liesl didn't let her insecurity get to her. Combing through his hair – and in spite of her anxiousness she once again registered that it felt like silk – she kissed his jaw and whispered: "Christopher – my Christopher!"

And then he reacted, bending down, his arms finally embracing her, his lips, dry and raw, searching for hers and they found each other in an almost desperate kiss.

"Li!" He was the first to speak, his mouth still almost on hers. "I'm so terribly sorry. I behaved like the worst of rascals and I hurt you horribly. Please, forgive …"

"Hush!" Liesl stopped him with another kiss. "Ich liebe dich, Christopher." Without thinking about it, she had spoken German, but now she repeated it in his language: "I love you." And because it felt so glorious to be able to express it at last, she repeated: "I love you, love you, love you."

"Elisabeth!" Once again a deep kiss and then he sat down and pulled her into his lap, drawing her as close as possible. "I thought I had lost you!"

She had tasted salt on his lips and looking at him, she saw that his eyes were glimmering with tears. Pulling his head to her chest, she said: "You'll never lose me as long as you love me. And you do, don't you?"

For a few moments he was silent, only stroking her hand. "I thought I'd never say it again," he whispered then. "Yes, Elisabeth, I love you. Ich liebe dich." His accent was heavy and he spoke the words slowly, but they touched Liesl so much she almost started to cry. "I think I started loving you the first moment I set eyes on you. I'll never forget how you stood there, so lovely, so young, so vulnerable and so strong. Yes, Elisabeth," he repeated, "I do love you – and if I weren't already married to you, I'd fall on my knees now and would beg you to become my wife and to never leave me. You're all I ever dreamed of in a woman. You are the one I waited half of my life for. And to think that you," he laid his hand against her stomach, "are bearing our child – it's a miracle, Elisabeth. So much of a miracle I still can't really believe it. That I shall have you and Allegra and …"

"… our baby," Liesl finished for him, putting her hand on his. Had she ever been so happy in her life? She was in Christopher's arms and he loved her! The thought of it made her almost dizzy and she started to giggle.

"What's so funny, darling?" he asked softly.

Liesl snuggled closer to him. "I've just become aware again how big you are. And considering that, you know, in a few months I'll look like a whale! With your baby …"

"You were breathtakingly beautiful when you were pregnant with Allegra!" he replied.

"And you were so handsome while you held her for the first time!" Liesl kissed the tip of his nose. "And you know, the one night when I was at the rehearsal for the 'Messiah' – oh, Christopher! You had my hormones in an uproar."

"Me?" He obviously didn't understand.

Liesl chuckled again. "It was rather hot and when I came home you were in bed, wearing only boxer shorts. Allegra was asleep on your chest – and I envied her for that place! I felt like jumping on you!"

"I certainly wouldn't have minded!" Christopher took her face between his hands and pulled her down for another kiss.

His strong body close to hers, the memory of that night, his gentle kiss – it suddenly wasn't enough for Liesl anymore. She wanted more, she needed more. The separation, the thought that she had lost him had been so painful, and she still felt the aftershock of it. Only he could heal it, only his closeness could make her heart whole again and so she deepened the kiss and let her hand slip under his jacket, unbuttoning his vest.

"Christopher?" she whispered in his mouth.

"Hmm?" He was occupied with nibbling at her neck, his hands roaming her sides.

"You're heavily overdressed – once again!"

His answer was laughter. "You're one to talk!" He playfully tugged at her coat, then reached under it and cupped her left breast. "I think there's far too much fabric between me and your lovely skin."

"You're right, my lord!" Liesl rose up and walked to the door. On its inside hung a sign that stated "Bitte nicht stören!"(2). Liesl took it, opened the door, hung it on the knob outside, closed the door again and went to the middle of the room, slipping out of her coat and shoes. Turning around, she looked at Christopher who watched her. "Would you help me with the buttons?"

"Of course." He came over and undid the tiny buttons which closed her dress in the back. Bending down he shoved the fabric away and kissed her shoulders. "Are you sure, my love?" he whispered, sounding a bit insecure.

If Liesl hadn't already wanted him, the vulnerability in his voice would have done it for her. That this man, once so aloof and reserved, once all pride and even arrogance, was now showing her so much trust, that he whom she had thought could have any woman still sounded as if he couldn't believe that she truly loved him, touched her deeply. Once she had felt inferior to him and intimated by his urbaneness and experience. But now she understood that in matters of love, in the most intimate area of their marriage, she was his equal if not even the stronger, more experienced one. She had gone through hurt and disappointment too, but she had also received love and care from her family.

Once again she turned and kissed him. "Yes, Christopher, I am sure," she simply answered and added with a mischievous smile: "I only hope you don't expect me to pull you out of all these clothes. It would be like peeling an onion."

"With every layer you cry more?" Christopher raised one eyebrow.

"No, I don't think so. Quite the contrary. If memory doesn't fail me, it gets better with every layer that's removed!" Liesl was out of her dress and her chemise. Sitting down on the bedside, she rolled her silken stockings down, slipped out of her underwear and threw them on the pile of clothes on the chair before she looked at her husband again.

Christopher was out of his suit and just unbuttoning his shirt, revealing white, silken boxer shorts already strained by an impressive erection. Liesl licked her lips seeing it – she knew so well how it felt when it stretched her and the memory of it caused a bolt of arousal to warm her entire body. She wanted him so badly she almost couldn't wait for him anymore. Yet there was something she had to do first. In her mind she heard her father's voice again: "There's a scar. His second fiancée told him she was too repulsed by it …"

Liesl closed her eyes, breathed deeply and steeled herself. However ghastly the scar was – she would show Christopher that there was nothing about him that could repulse her. She loved him, all of him with all that a hard and sad life had done to him, and she wouldn't shy away from a scar, however ugly it might look.

"Christopher," she said, her voice firm, but gentle. "Would you please come here to me?"

"Yes, my darling." He walked towards her until he stood in front of her, stopped by Liesl putting her hands on his hips.

Looking up at him she whispered: "There's nothing you need to hide from me, my love."

But as she reached for the waistband of his shorts, he laid his hands over hers and she felt how his fingers trembled. "Elisabeth, it's a rather ugly sight," he warned her. "You mustn't …"

"Let me be the judge of that!" she interrupted him and pulled his boxers down. For a second she feared she had made a mistake by insisting because his erection started to lose strength. But then she saw the scar, leading from his hipbone down to his testicles, and stared at it. This was what another woman had been repulsed by? The ugliest thing about the scar was the thought of how much pain it had caused Christopher. Beyond that, it was a pale, finger-thick line with the signs of stitches at the left and right – no more, no less and certainly nothing to be appalled by.

Examining it, Liesl swore that if she ever met the woman who had called the scar "repulsive" she would kick her from wherever they were to Yokohama and back. And pulling her husband closer, Liesl bent down and kissed the scar, letting her mouth linger on it until she heard Christopher moan and felt on her cheek how his penis hardened again. For good measure she put a quick kiss on its tip too and then looked up at her pale husband, swearing to herself that soon she would go all the way, pleasing him the same way he had so often given her fulfilment. She would show him that she loved his body too, in its entity and without any hesitation. But not now – now she needed him in her arms – and rolling in the bed, she whispered: "Come to me, my love. Make love to me – I need you!"

To be continued

(1) The father is always arguable

(2) Please, don't disturb!


	27. Chapter 27

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

A/N: Sorry for the long delay! But sometimes real life has to come first.

Thanks to my wonderful friend and beta Trapper!

_**Chapter **__**27: A new home**_

May 1946

Louisa von Trapp sat on the ramp of the train car standing on a quiet side track of the Salzburg main station, her long legs—in a pair of rather worn Jodhpur trousers—hanging down and her head braced in her hands. After almost four weeks of travelling she had finally arrived at her hometown, but as much as she looked forward to being reunited with her family and to sleep in a real bed, she knew that she would miss being so close to the boys.

It was now exactly 26 days since Inge Evanescu had helped Louisa lead the rather excited Pluto Bona and Conversano Theokratia – who found the fidgeting of his mate rather undignified and therefore behaved as if he travelled regularly – up the ramp into another car which had been waiting for them in Washington. With tears in her eyes Louisa had said "farewell" to Inge Evanescu, knowing that it would be a long time until she would see her friend again. And as much as she had longed to be with her parents and siblings again, Louisa had found leaving America hard. Of course, she was and had always been an Austrian and it would be wonderful to hear and to speak German again and to ride up the mountains, but with all her love for Austria she certainly would never forget what America had given her: Safety, freedom, peace and wonderful friends.

The friends she would miss, but on the other hand: Her two best friends in the world had been with her. And so, as the door of the train car had closed, only leaving a small slit for air open, she had turned to Pluto Bona and playing with his mane as he liked it, she had told him: "Now we're really going home, Bonny. Soon you'll be running up mountains and grazing on mountains with tasty herbs again. People won't wonder about your white coat anymore, but know that you're a Lipizzan and treat you with the respect an imperial horse like you deserves. And if we are lucky, Father will already have found nice girls for Conny and you. We just have to make it over the ocean now and we'll meet them. I only hope that none of us will get seasick!"

On the morning after they had left Washington Louisa and the boys had arrived at the port in New York where the HMS Duchess of York had docked. Two seamen and a very nice young officer had helped Louisa get the boys – and then even Conversano Theokratia had been a bit nervous – into the stalls built up in a cargo department. The straw, hay and oats they would need for the time at sea had already been stored there – not a lot of oats because the two stallions had been trained down so that they could bear some time without a chance to run. So they wouldn't need much oats. Nevertheless Louisa had gotten them a handful and some hay to welcome them on the ship, and so their long journey to Europe had started with the boys munching on their food.

However, Louisa had worried about Bonny the first three days. He obviously hadn't remembered that he had been on a ship before. He had only been four years old then and in the company of a few other horses. Now, on the Duchess of York, he hadn't eaten well and he hadn't dared to lie down during the first nights. Louisa had spent the nights with him on two bails of straw against the wall of his stall, quietly talking to him. Her presence had finally soothed him and in the fourth night he had – with a big sigh – lain down next to her and had slept peacefully. The next morning he had munched down his breakfast with a healthy appetite.

With two horses to look after, Louisa had been rather busy. In the mornings and evenings she had mucked out their stalls, four times a day she had fed and watered them, every morning both of them had been groomed properly and whenever the sea hadn't been too troubled – which luckily had been most of the time – Louisa had gotten them out in the fresh air by leading them around on the deck for at least half an hour. Conny hadn't been too keen on these strolls – he had obviously found looking out at the sea rather boring. Bonny on the other hand had loved it – not for the sight of the sea, but for the attention he always got from other passengers. Everyone had wanted to stroke him and talk to him and at least five times a day he had been told what a beautiful horse he was and one old English lady had even waited for him every day to feed him a lump of sugar.

Bonny had also found Louisa a friend: Ruth, a 19-year-old Jewish girl. She had spent the war with her American grandmother and was now on her way back to Amsterdam where her parents lived. She loved horses and had spent a lot of time with Louisa and the boys.

After 14 days the Duchess of York had docked at Bremerhaven where Ruth met her mother while Louisa once again moved the stallions into a train car. She had gotten help to do this: The American frigate USS Arlington had been in Bremerhaven too. Her Captain was a friend of Admiral Forrester who had called him to help Louisa, and the man had done even more: After the boys had gotten in their wagon, he had ordered two of his men to watch them and had invited Louisa to use the phone on his ship for a call to Salzburg. It had been wonderful to hear her father's voice after such a long time and to learn from him that everyone was well and that the farm in Heuberg near Salzburg was ready for the arrival of the horses.

The journey through Germany then had been rather tiresome. A lot of tracks were still not working, so the train with the horses often needed to wait for hours until it could go further. Sometimes Louisa had been glad for the stops. When the train had been outside a city, the stops had often given her a chance to let the boys out for a bit of walking and a mouth-full of fresh grass.

However, the stop in Cologne hadn't made Louisa happy. Her car had been moved onto a side track in the back of the big main station and there it had stood for 24 hours while heavy rain had poured down on it. Besides there had been locomotives braking and every time one of them stopped with its brakes squeaking, Bonny had gotten scared. On the second day – it had still been raining – Louisa had had too much.

Telling the boys to behave she jumped out of the train car, carefully closing the door behind her. Walking along the tracks until she reached the public part of the main station, she searched for the station commander and finally found a sturdy man in an office, just watering a rather sad-looking Indian rubber tree. He obviously didn't like being disturbed and at first told Louisa that he was very busy and asked if she couldn't come around later. Louisa insisted that he tell her when her wagon would be connected to a train towards Salzburg again, but the station commander only shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know for sure. We're just putting a freight train bound for Munich together, but we're waiting for a few cars and I don't know exactly when they'll arrive. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps in two days. You'll have to wait until then."

Louisa felt like exploding! Breathing deeply, she said: "You know, I've got two horses with me – and it's not good for them to stand around for days in a train car! Besides I'm running out of hay and straw. Can you at least help me get some supplies?"

The station commander tugged at his rubber plant. "I'm not responsible for that. You should have arranged that before you started your trip!"

Slowly counting to ten – her father had once taught her that one should always do so before yelling at someone – Louisa answered: "I was told that I'd get fresh supplies at the stations on our way to Salzburg. And as far as I know my father even paid for it already."

"I don't know about that!" the station commander replied.

"Okay, okay – could I perhaps use your phone to call my father?" Louisa asked.

"No, of course not! That's my office, not a public phone booth!" The station commander sounded offended. "Besides I've got work to do. So if you'd please leave ..."

Fuming, Louisa stepped out of the office and back into the lobby of the main station. There were public phone booths, but unfortunately Louisa didn't have German coins. Yet there were two French soldiers just passing by – and seeing them Louisa got an idea. Normally she didn't like using her name to gain privileges, but for the boys she would have climbed up onto the roof of the station and shouted to the world: "I'm Admiral von Trapp's daughter!"

And wasn't Germany occupied by the allies? That meant that there were French, Russian, English and American soldiers – and Americans certainly would help her if she told them who her father was! The question only was: Where would she find American soldiers?

Slowly, Louisa trudged out into the big plaza in front of the main station. It was very crowded with people on bikes, people carrying luggage, and cars and trucks driving along. For a few minutes Louisa watched, hoping to see a jeep with the American flag on it. When she had almost given up hope, she saw a jeep – only it wasn't an American one, but showed the English flag on its side. It stopped in front of the main station and a young officer, dark-haired with blue eyes and rather lanky, jumped out and walked towards the entrance of the main station.

Louisa sprinted after him. "Excuse me, sir – could I please talk to you?"

The officer stopped, turned and surveyed her, obviously puzzled about meeting a girl in rather dirty Jodhpurs and a not-too-clean sweater who spoke English with a British accent – having learned the language from her mother had ensured that Louisa hadn't even lost the accent in six years in America.

"Are you English?" the officer asked.

"No, I'm Austrian," Louisa answered. "But I am the sister-in-law of Lord Fenswick, your ambassador in Vienna. And I'm in trouble, sir."

The blue eyes – and actually they were quite lovely – once again examined her. "Chris Fenswick's sister-in-law? Then you must be a daughter of Admiral von Trapp!"

Louisa felt like hugging the young man. If he knew her brother-in-law and even knew about her father, he would certainly help her! Nodding, she said: "Yes, I'm Louisa von Trapp."

"It's a small world," the officer smiled, but then looked at his watch. "Miss von Trapp, I'm terribly sorry, but I have a little problem. I'm supposed to pick up my commanding officer and I'm already late. Why don't you go to my car and wait there for me? I'll be back in five minutes and then we'll see what we can do about your troubles, alright?"

"Of course, sir! I'll wait!"

"Fine! And by the way: I'm Llewelyn Byerly." The officer waved at her and disappeared into the station.

Five minutes later he came back, talking animatedly to a small, rather stout man with a bald head in a blue uniform with a lot of gold on his shoulders. He stopped in front of her, offered her his hand and said: "Captain Byerly told me you're Fenswick's sister-in-law."

"Yes, I am. Lord Fenswick is the husband of my oldest sister. My name is Louisa von Trapp, sir."

"I'm Brigadier Evans. And," now he was smiling and even chuckled, "you've found the right men to help you out of your troubles. What can we do for you?"

"I'm on my way home to Salzburg," Louisa told him. "And I have my father's two stallions with me. We're stuck at this station and I was told we won't be connected to another train for at least another day. The problem is that I'm running out of supplies for my horses. My hay will only last for two more days and I'm very short on straw already." As daughter of an officer Louisa had learned not to beat around the bush, and so she now looked directly at the Brigadier. "Is there a possibility that you could help me somehow?"

The man's grin became even broader. "You've indeed found the right people!" Turning to his younger colleague, he ordered: "Byerly, you are to get Miss von Trapp and her ponies whatever they need. I'll have a word with the station commander in the meantime. Where are the ponies now?"

Louisa didn't like that he had called her proud Lipizzans "ponies", but in this case she didn't speak up for them, but only replied: "Our train car is in the back of the station on track 25 C."

"Fine. We'll meet there as soon as I'm done with the station commander." The Brigadier chuckled. "A seaman with horses – I'm looking forward to seeing them!"

"The horses are Lipizzans," Louisa said proudly.

"Lipizzans? Like these white horses from Vienna? I've never seen one of those – it will be quite an experience!" The Brigadier waved and walked off.

The younger officer turned to the driver who was patiently waiting in the car. "You heard the Brigadier. Just wait 'til we're back." Smiling at Louisa he proceeded: "Well – let's go see your ponies."

"Lipizzans aren't ponies!" Louisa said indignantly while following him. "They're not especially tall, but they do count as real horses."

"I'm sorry for belittling your horses!" Llewelyn Byerly grinned. "But they're in good company. The brigadier once had a very tall mare, know throughout the entire regiment as the "riding elephant'. She was, all the same, called a 'pony' in our stables."

"You're a cavalry officer!" Louisa exclaimed.

"Yes, though in wartime we deal with tanks instead of horses. Nevertheless, I am an officer in the Blues – your brother-in-law's regiment. We're part of the Household cavalry. And beyond that," now he was chuckling, "you and I are kind of related by marriage. I've heard your mother was a Whitehead, wasn't she? Well, the mother of my uncle Algernon's late wife was a Whitehead too – the sister of the man who invented the torpedo."

"That was my great-grandfather", Louisa said. She started to laugh. "I don't think we'd be able to figure out how we're related without working it out on a piece of paper!"

"Perhaps we'll find out it's close enough to give me permission to call you 'Louisa'? It's a lovely name. It suits you very well."

Louisa almost stumbled over her own feet. Was it possible that the Captain was flirting with her? She actually didn't have much experience with that, having always been a tomboy. However, he was smiling at her and well, with his dark hair and the blue eyes he looked rather nice. Smiling back she said: "Why, thank you. And yes, if you want to, you can call me Louisa."

"Fine, but then you must call me Llewelyn." He took her elbow to lead her down the stairs and on the little path which led to the outer area of the station where the train car was parked.

* * *

Half an hour later – and it had been a nice half hour with Llewelyn petting and praising the boys – the Brigadier appeared, telling Louisa that she would be rolling again in a few hours. "But first we'll get these boys fed and supplied with straw. I've sent a lorry to the race track to get you what the ponies need. It should be enough until you reach Salzburg."

In the evening as her car – now connected to a rather fast passenger train – had left Cologne Louisa had felt a bit disappointed. Llewelyn had helped her store the supplies – and his boss had been generous, even getting the boys some carrots – and kept her company until the wagon had been moved, but he hadn't asked for her address in Salzburg. He had obviously not intended to keep in touch though Louisa would have liked it.

However, now she had finally arrived at Salzburg and sitting on the ramp she wondered what would happen now. The night before she had used a stop to send her father a telegram that she would arrive in Salzburg the next day, but now she wasn't sure if he had gotten it. The train had arrived at eight o'clock. She had gone to call her father then, but had only gotten a secretary who had told her that the Admiral was in a conference all day. And no, he hadn't an idea where Mr. Detweiler was, but would search for him and tell him that the Admiral's daughter and his horses were waiting at the train station.

Since then, three hours had gone by and slowly Louisa had started to consider whether and how she could reach Heuberg on her own. Having grown up in Salzburg she knew at least that Heuberg where her family now resided was a little village around eight kilometres to the east of the city.

Normally such a distance wasn't a problem for a horse – just half an hour trotting. But the boys had neither horse shoes nor saddles and hadn't been out of the train car for around four days now. They were certainly stiff from standing so long and they would become rather excited as soon as they were able to move freely again. With Conversano Theokratia Louisa would perhaps have dared, even knowing that she would have to cross half of the city, but riding on his bare back and leading Pluto Bona who certainly would get jumpy – that would definitely be too much. Louisa didn't think it a good idea to chase Pluto Bona through the city and, she was sure, her father wouldn't like his stallion causing chaos in the middle of Salzburg either.

On the other hand: The thought of appearing at the American headquarters with the boys was funny. It would for sure make her father's secretary rush his search for Uncle Max. However, Uncle Max had never been much help with horses. One couldn't even use him to lead Conversano Theokratia because Max Detweiler became so nervous around horses that he was even able to make the normally well-behaved Conny lose his calm.

It obviously wasn't to be helped: Louisa would have to get the boys home on her own. And the sooner she started, the better – in Cologne she had forgotten to ask for food for herself and since then she had only once found a bakery close to a train station. Yesterday in the evening she had eaten her last piece of bread and the little that had been left of a salami she had bought in Bremeverhaven. Now she was starving and really longed to be home at last.

Putting the boys' bridles on them, she took her rucksack and led them both down the ramp. "It seems father still doesn't know we're here, so we have to go home on our own," she told them. "And please, Bonny, do me a favour: Try for once to behave! You'll need your energy for the way home. Besides, hopping around on asphalt certainly won't do your hoofs any good! Knowing you I'd say you'll need the farrier tomorrow anyway, but I'd really hate to bring you home lame."

Luckily for once Bonny seemed to have listened to her – or was he simply scared out of his wits as he followed her through the crowded hall of Salzburg's main station? Louisa didn't even dare think about, but instead considered how to get through the doors with her hands full with the horses. Yet there were a few boys loitering around and one joked at her: "Hey, have you lost your carriage?"

"No," Louisa answered. "It's standing just outside the door – and if you could move your butt to open it for me, I could get my boys out!"

Through the doors, out on the plaza and from there down Rainer street, crossing the tracks onto St. Julien street – that was the plan. Only Pluto Bona didn't seem to like it. Seeing a woman with a pram in front of the station he stopped, digging all four feet firmly into the ground and looking at the red umbrella on the pram as if he feared it would jump at him.

"Come, Bonny – you've seen prams and you've seen umbrellas! Don't make a fuss!" Louisa told him.

It didn't help. Pluto Bona snorted and started to piaff at Louisa's hand, every muscle in his body tensed, his neck already becoming dark with sweat. Knowing him Louisa knew that he would explode soon, probably raising up on his hindlegs – in contrast to Conversano Theokratia, who was still struggling with the levade, Pluto Bona was a natural at it – or jumping around and kicking.

There was only one way to stop the Pluto Bona bomb before it exploded: Getting him to move. Only she couldn't do it with Conversano Theokratia's reins in her left hand. Yet there was still the boy who had opened the door for her and Louisa put Conny's reins into his hand: "Keep him for me – and then come after me in a moment!" She started to run, loudly calling: "Make way!"

Pluto Bona was still totally scared. He started to jump, galloping on Louisa's hand and making an older man who had just come along almost collide with a wall. "Sorry!" Louisa called to him. Luckily Pluto Bona seemed to remember his manners now and fell into a tense trot. Louisa led him down the street – it became less crowded the farther away she got from the main station – and finally stopped him in front of a store house. Petting his neck soothingly, she said, still out of breath: "So much about Lipizzans being roadworthy! You've embarrassed your entire breed, Bonny!"

"Show me a horse who's roadworthy after four weeks in a wagon!" a familiar voice said behind her.

Louisa turned around. "Christopher!" At first sight she almost hadn't recognized her brother-in-law because he wore a sweater and Jodhpurs too. "What are you doing here?"

"I'll show you a roadworthy horse after four weeks of confinement, Chris!" another dark voice announced. Strolling down the street, Conversano Theokratia's reins in his right hand and the left in the pocket of his uniform trousers, Llewelyn appeared, stopped the stallion next to Louisa, patted his neck and grinned at her. "Look what I found at the station! Do you think I could keep it?"

"What would you do with a Lipizzan, Lew? You're even worse at dressage than I am!" Christopher grinned.

"Well, perhaps Louisa could teach me? I suppose she's quite good," Llewelyn responded and turned to Louisa. "Oh, by the way: We're your welcome committee. Only we're a bit late because his lordship had trouble parking the truck."

"I wanted to park it so we could get the boys in without any problems!" Christopher defended himself.

"Yes, I'd say so too if I'd needed half of a cricket field to get a truck parked!" Llewelyn grinned and pointed with his chin to an American truck which stood a few steps away. "Here, your limousine, ma'am!"

"Your father is stuck in a very important conference all day," Christopher explained now. "So he asked us to pick you up. Shall we get the boys in now?"

Following him with Pluto Bona Louisa smiled at Llewelyn who led Conversano Theokratia to the truck. "I didn't expect to see you in Salzburg."

"Well, when we met in Cologne my destiny was already sealed and my luggage packed," he told her. "My mother is Russian, therefore I speak Russian – and that made your brother-in-law want to get me as military attaché to the Embassy in Vienna. I arrived there four days ago and was immediately asked if I'd like to help Chris pick you up. I of course agreed." He bent down and whispered, sounding a bit sheepish: "I'd already thought about asking him to take me with him to Salzburg when he visited the family because I hoped to see you again."

* * *

Maria was happy. The house was bursting with cheerful noise, the weather was glorious and she had all her nearest and dearest people around her – except Georg, but he would soon come home too. And Maria was sure he would love what he would see: For the first time since they had moved to the Sonnenhof (1) the entire family – including his beloved stallions and the two mares who had arrived just the other week – would sit or, as the case was with the four-legged members of the clan, stand – around one table. And no, Maria didn't mind in the least that there was someone among them she hadn't known until 24 hours ago.

She had already liked Llewelyn Byerly when Christopher told her how he had helped Louisa out in Cologne. And now, after meeting him in person, she liked him even better. Besides it had been him who had made the "all of the family around one table in the garden" thing possible. He had heard how Maria and Liesl had regretted that they couldn't have dinner out there on such a lovely evening because they hadn't found a garden table big enough yet. Furrowing his brows, Llewelyn had asked: "Haven't you got racks in your tack chamber? I think I saw some there." He had looked around the hall. "Hmm – the doors here all have ornaments. Do you have some plain doors in the house?"

"Yes, upstairs all the doors are plain."

"Well then, the problem is solved: We take three doors, put them on the racks, you lay some linen over them and we get the chairs from the dining room out and – voila!"

Ten minutes later Friedrich and Llewelyn had carried the first door out while Christopher, Kurt and Louisa had been busy in the meadow. Louisa had held Conversano Theokratia, soothingly talking to him while Kurt and Christopher had worked on heightening the fence. While Pluto Bona – after running around on the meadow for almost half an hour before he had himself thrown down in a puddle, happily rolling in it – had started to graze and hadn't raised his head since he had started, Conversano Theokratia was neither interested in the tasty grass nor in coating himself in mud nor in running around. He had discovered the two mares in the pasture behind the apple garden and, after announcing his presence with a thundering shriek, had attempted to jump over the fence. Louisa had just managed to stop him by throwing herself on his neck, but since then the stallion hadn't taken his eyes away from the mares. And Orasta, the four year old mare, obviously had taken a liking to him too – she was standing at her fence, snickering longingly.

Christopher had immediately decided that they would need to build up the fence and so Kurt and he were hammering while Marta and Friedrich's fiancée Julie had laid the table and were just coming out of the house with two big bowls of potato salad, announcing that the chickens Maria was watching over would be ready in a moment too.

Now Maria had come out of the house with the chickens – and hearing a car coming up the road, she put them on the table and rushed into the yard, hoping it would be Georg. Yet it was Max who had brought Elsa and a little barrel with him. Hugging Maria he announced: "I'm bearing a gift – an entire barrel with May beer, freshly brewed!" Looking over Maria's shoulder to the meadow he grinned. "Huh – what's that? Louisa's hardly home and has already gotten herself an admirer?"

Llewelyn had joined Louisa – and standing next to her he smiled at her fondly. It was obvious that he was rather taken with her and the way Louisa blushed and giggled showed clearly that the girl who had until now always preferred four-legged boys to men, had found a two-legged one she liked.

Maria smiled. "He's a friend of Christopher's."

Liesl came out of the house to welcome the guests. She wore a dirndl and there was already a rather nice bulge under her blue apron.

"Liesl – you're growing!" Elsa greeted her and indeed, pregnancy became Liesl. Her eyes were beaming and she showed the radiant beauty of a woman who loved and knew herself beloved.

The younger children who had played in the yard had discovered their beloved Uncle Max now and were crowding around him as Georg's black limousine with the pennant arrived at the front of the house too. Because of the warmth, Georg was already in his summer whites, his face and arms tanned from the work he had done in the meadows. Watching how he picked up four year old Phillip and little Allegra who had thrown herself on him, Maria felt her heart jump with joy. After seven years of marriage she still thought her husband the most handsome man alive and seeing him come home in the evening filled her with happiness every day. They had made it through the war, they had come back to their homeland, they were together, their children were healthy and talented – what more could one wish for? And because Georg was occupied with Phillip and Allegra, Maria laid her arm around Stephan's middle – he had become so tall she couldn't reach up to his shoulders comfortably anymore – kissed his cheek and announced: "I've baked a chocolate cake!"

"And chicken!" Barbara quipped, clinging to her father's leg. "Can we eat now?"

"Actually I'd like to say hello to my horses first and then I'd like to get out of my uniform," Georg smiled down at her. "I think you'll survive a few minutes more of waiting. And so will Max even," he grinned, patting the slight belly Max had developed. "Elsa, you should work him a bit more! Old Max is becoming fat!"

"You're one to talk!" Max fired back. "Maria's cooking is growing on you too!"

"Well, I'm a grandfather. I'm allowed to gain some weight." Georg put Philipp and Allegra down. "Children, I'm going to greet Louisa and the horses."

"I wouldn't bet on Louisa wanting to be greeted by you," Max chuckled. "She seems to be rather occupied by her young man."

Georg only rolled his eyes, used his now free hand to stroke Maria's cheek, put a kiss on the tip of her nose and walked over to the pasture.

* * *

Three hours later the younger children were in bed, the doors were back where they belonged, Kurt had disappeared murmuring something about "off to see a friend!" and Georg had just come up from the cellar, carrying two bottles of wine. To Maria's amusement he registered immediately that Louisa and Llewelyn had used his short absence to take their leave too. Scowling he asked: "Where are Louisa and this young fellow?"

It was Christopher who answered. Leaning back on the bench, laying his arm around Liesl and pulling her close, he grinned: "I suppose they have eloped. You know how we English officers are, Georg. Just show one of us one of your lovely daughters and off we run, straight to the next registrar's office. And then look," he stroked over Liesl's belly, "what becomes of your daughters!"

"Happy wives?" Liesl smiled up at him.

Christopher rolled his eyes. "Wrong tune, Elisabeth! You're supposed to whine about being kept on bare feet in the kitchen, always pregnant, with at least one little snotty nose clinging to your dirty apron …"

"Just one moment, please!" Liesl interrupted him. "Since when am I allowed in the kitchen? Just the other day you told me I belonged in the dungeons! But don't you worry, Father: Once a day Chris throws some cucumber sandwiches at me!"

Georg sighed and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Christopher: How well do you know this young man?"

Maria couldn't help smiling at Max and Elsa who looked very amused too. Wasn't it typical for Georg to interrogate Christopher about Louisa's admirer as soon as he got a chance to?

"Well enough to assure you that he knows how to behave around a young lady," Christopher answered whole-heartedly. "Really, Georg, you mustn't worry about Llewelyn. He's a fine fellow – well-behaved, kind and intelligent. And he's even in the stud book and the son of a sea captain. His father commanded the HMS Eagle which was sunk in 1943."

"And how is it that the son of a sea captain became a cavalry officer?" Georg wanted to know.

Christopher grinned. "Some of us like doing our job without having wet feet all of the time. And in Llewelyn's case: His uncle is my former boss – Algernon Newcastle-Heavens. And Algernon was, as you perhaps know, a Blues too."

"We're talking about the Ambassador in Washington?" Maria asked, remembering the always kind man fondly.

"Yes," Christopher nodded. "And with him being childless and only having this one nephew, Llewelyn is the heir presumptive to the title and the estate. One day he'll become the ninth Count of Newcastle-Heavens." His grin became broader. "You can be sure, Georg: He can afford to provide for a wife and a few horses. The estate includes a stud – and not a bad one. One of the last derby winners wore the colours of the Newcastle-Heavens."

Maria leaned back. She actually wasn't interested in Llewelyn's future title and wealth. He seemed to have a good heart and he showed – in her opinion – great taste by adoring Louisa. Of course, most people thought Liesl, followed by Brigitta and Marta, the beauties in the family. Yet Louisa had always been special too.

Maria remembered how shocked Georg once had been when Louisa had come home with short hair. He had mourned the loss of her long, blonde curls while Maria had found that the bob suited Louisa. It showed her long neck and the fine structure of her face. Besides she had always possessed the untamed grace of a filly. Combined with her father's quick temper, but also his intelligence and warmth, Maria thought her quite a catch for any young man – and she was glad that there was finally one Louisa showed interest in.

Sipping at her wine – she still wasn't drinking much, but had learned to enjoy a glass of white wine in the evening – she looked at Liesl and her lord who were now talking with Elsa and Georg. Who would have thought that one would once see the reserved Christopher Fenswick so relaxed and happy?

Georg had told her what had happened when he had come to Vienna last December and though Maria had been shocked at first, her sympathy and affection for Christopher had soon overtaken those feelings. She was glad that he and Liesl had finally sorted out their feelings for each other and she liked watching them together. It was so obvious that he adored Liesl and that she was passionately in love with him. And there was something about him Maria appreciated very much: He didn't only see Liesl as his wife and the mother of his children, but always as the artist too, supporting her in her work and career.

Her eyes wandered over to the next couple in the circle which was quietly holding hands, now and then smiling at each other. Julie and Friedrich, knowing each other since they had been 15 and 16 years old, had gone through a lot in the last few years. Although Julie had never complained, Maria knew that she had worried about Friedrich day and night while he had been out in the war. They now enjoyed being together very much, though Maria would have wished they had more time for each other. However, Julie had two jobs: She was writing her thesis and taught history at the Nonnberg Abbey school while Friedrich spent most of the time at the piano in order to catch up. He would restart his education in the summer and therefore needed to practise as much as possible. Yet in autumn they would marry and then Friedrich would move into Julie's little flat in Salzburg.

Georg first hadn't looked too happy when Friedrich and Julie told about their plan to marry so soon. In his opinion a man needed to be settled in his profession before he married, but Friedrich had explained to him that he wouldn't need any support from his father. "The navy is paying until I'm finished at the university, besides I'll give lessons and Julie earns money too. We'll make it through – and you know, we've been engaged now for almost four years! We think that's long enough."

A few days later on a weekend when Liesl and Christopher had been in Salzburg, Julie had started to talk about Friedrich's and her plans for the wedding. "You know, I don't have any family left – except you, that is. And because Friedrich and I feel so close to you and because Liesl was my friend even before I fell in love with Friedrich – well, we thought we could make our wedding a real feast for the entire family, connecting it with the christening of Liesl's new baby. You said, you'd like to have it christened at the Church of Nonnberg Abbey, didn't you, Liesl?"

Liesl and Christopher had liked the idea, but Maria had thought that Liesl had looked a bit sad. She had once told Maria that she had dreamed of a wedding at Nonnberg Abbey since the day she walked through the aisle there in front of Maria. "But what's a wedding?" she had then said. "I've got a wonderful, loving husband – that's more important!"

"Maria, where are you?" Elsa had moved to Maria's side and was smiling at her. She had become another pleasant surprise in the last few months because she had become a real friend. Of course, Elsa was still Elsa, a very private person, often hiding her vulnerable self behind a flippant attitude, but Maria had learned that there was a warm-hearted, caring woman behind the mask of the tough Countess Rechberg.

Smiling back at her she replied quietly: "I was thinking about weddings."

"Oh, that's a subject I'm good at!" Elsa laughed. "You know, I did it twice. My first time was a really big affair in the Stephansdom in Vienna – the entire program with around 300 guests and a big ball in the hotel Sacher. The second wedding was a family affair in the church next to the castle of my husband's family – nice too. I always enjoyed weddings. In fact," she bent down to Maria's ear and whispered: "I'm actually thinking about doing it for the third time soon. I think a sweet, intimate little wedding with only a few close friends is just what is lacking in my collection."

"You want to marry?" Maria wasn't sure she had gotten this right. Of course, Georg and she had sometimes speculated about the relationship between Max and Elsa, but with the two always teasing each other it was difficult to make out how they really felt.

"Third time's the charm, they say," Elsa replied cheerfully and reached for Max's hand. "Besides I think it's high time that someone finally made an honest man out of Max."

* * *

Christopher walked back into the bedroom in the attic he shared with Liesl whenever they visited the Sonnenhof – which they did quite often because both of them enjoyed being with Liesl's family. Sitting down on the bedside, he smiled at Liesl: "Allegra's asleep again. Her nappy was full. I changed it and now she's as smug as a bug in a rug."

"You're a marvel, Christopher!" Liesl praised him and rolled with a sigh onto her side.

"Is your back hurting again, darling?" Christopher asked, slipping out of his dressing gown.

"Hmm!" Liesl moaned. "You know that's the one thing I really, really dislike about being pregnant!"

"Shall I give you a back rub?" he offered while lying down next to her.

"That would be wonderful!" Liesl undid her night shirt, put the pillow under her chest and turned onto her belly.

Christopher straddled her thighs, bent down and kissed her between the shoulder blades.

Liesl promptly reacted with a little chuckle and, wriggling her backside against his already burgeoning erection, she asked: "Chris, darling?"

"Hmm?" He started to knead the knots out of her tensed shoulder muscles.

"Is it possible that you're not only thinking of giving me a backrub?" Liesl asked, sounding rather amused.

"Can a man help it when he is presented," his hands glided down to her backside, tenderly squeezing her buttocks, "with such a desirable behind? I just love it!"

"Yesterday you said you loved my breasts!" Liesl laughed.

"At the moment I can't see them, hence I love your delicious little butt better!" Christopher once again started with his massage. "Besides," he said, "I love your shoulders. And your beautiful long legs. And this fair skin of yours and your smell and," he once more bent down, this time playfully biting into her shoulder, "if you provoke me one more time while we're in company, you'll pay dearly, vixen!"

"Why, my lord? I only laid my hand on your thigh. Where else should I have put it?" Liesl chuckled.

"You know exactly what your hand there does to me!"

"Oh – was a part of you rising to the occasion?" Liesl asked with faked innocence.

"You enjoy that, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Liesl turned around and put her hand on his hips, letting her thumbs slip into the waistband of his shorts. "You know, I've grown rather fond of this certain part of you, my lord. He's a real gentleman," she pulled the shorts down and reached for his erection, "always standing up when a lady approaches him!"

"Actually he only stands up for you, Li!" Christopher closed his eyes and suppressed a moan. Sometimes it amazed him how strongly his body reacted to his wife's touch. He had been with more experienced lovers who had known every trick in the book and his equipment had been handled by real experts, but he had never felt as he did when Liesl came close to him. Sometimes she didn't even need to touch him! A certain look in her eyes was enough to get him aroused; the sight of her watching him in this special way of hers was enough to make him sweat.

In the first weeks after their reconciliation he had thought it was the novelty of sleeping with a woman he loved and knew himself loved by which made for the entire experience becoming so important and overwhelming. The intensity of his desire for her had even influenced his work. More than once he had found his thoughts straying during a boring conference and when he had to do a report. He had started to daydream about Liesl and what he would do with and to her and more than once he had needed all his self-discipline to will an erection down then.

By now he had managed to curb his need for her at least during the time he spent at work, but his idea of the passion subsiding with time and fulfilment had been proven wrong. It was still growing as he had learned just the other week when Liesl had attended a premiere at the opera with him. In the intermission she had gone to powder her nose while he had talked with a rather boring Austrian politician and the French ambassador. But then Liesl had come down the stairs in her blue evening gown. It was a rather modest one, only showing the swell of her breasts. However, said breasts had once again grown with the pregnancy, and the fine, flowing material of her wide skirt had shown her long thighs while she stepped down the stairs.

The Austrian politician had looked at her as if he wanted to eat her and had immediately started to talk about the elegance and the beauty of the Austrian women while the French ambassador had commented on Liesl's appearance with a simple, but very adoring: "Oh lala!"

Christopher in the meantime had only gaped at his wife, inwardly thanking his tailor that the generous cut of his trousers hid his growing arousal. Yet the little seductress he was married to knew the signs by now and she liked to tease him. Arriving at their box in the company of the French ambassador and his wife – who certainly wasn't a reason for saying "Oh lala" because she always looked like a cook whose soufflé had just collapsed – Liesl innocently smiled at him and sweetly asked: "Darling Chris, could you please have a look at the lock of my pearls? I'm afraid it's coming loose." And turning around she used his bending down over her neck to quickly wriggle her backside against his groin.

Christopher growled in her ear: "Witch! Just you wait until we're home!" He shortly fumbled at the lock which was – as he had expected – as it should be.

It didn't help him. Just on the contrary. Liesl whispered: "What do you think I'm doing?" Sitting down – and oh, how perfect a lady she looked, proving that the money her father had spent for 12 governesses hadn't been a total waste – she used the now dimming lights to deposit her hand on his thigh, only now and then moving her fingers a bit.

It was enough to make Christopher sweat through the entire rest of "Tosca", absolutely not caring if the heroine jumped down from the highest pinnacle of the Castel San Angelo in Rome or went grocery shopping in Little Boredom, Yorkshire. The only thing he was thinking of was how he could get his wife home as quickly as possible and then out of her dress and into his bed. The French ambassador's invitation for a drink he declined, lying about having developed a headache – and Liesl, her eyes glittering with mischief, seconded him with saying: "I'm afraid my poor husband has caught a cold – ever since the intermission he's been sweating! I really should see to getting him in bed."

How he stopped himself from running with her towards the limousine, he would never know. Somehow he managed a dignified retirement with Liesl on his arm, but as soon as the car was rolling, he got the divider between the backseats and the driver up, pulled Liesl into his lap and started to kiss her.

Luckily the driver, one of the security guards of the Embassy, was a smart and experienced man. Arriving in front of his Ambassador's private quarters he very slowly switched the engine off, got even more slowly out of the car and, moving like a snail in high grass, came around to open the back door, giving his employer a chance to cram his massive erection back into his trouser while his wife – giggling – put her breasts back into her dress. Yet from there on nothing could stop him anymore. Stumbling into the house with Liesl already trying to kiss him again, he pulled her into his study where they landed on the rug in front of the fireplace.

The next day Christopher had spent almost half an hour on his knees, searching for the diamond stud that had been lost in the ardour of their undressing while his sweet spouse had sat on the sofa, watching him and laughing until tears had run down her cheeks.

She obviously enjoyed the power she held over him and, to his utter amazement, he who had all his life defended his independence didn't mind. On the contrary: He had come to trust her, knowing that she loved him as much as he loved her and that she would never hurt him on purpose.

And now she sat up and pushed him onto the bed. "On your back, Christopher!" she commanded, kissing him, and as he sank down he closed his eyes in bliss. Since he had told her about the fantasy that had helped him through in the hospital, she loved to straddle him – and who was he to refuse what always made for exquisite pleasure?

* * *

Half an hour later Liesl lay in Christopher's arms, her fingertips lazily painting circles on his chest while he was still panting. Yet there was something he had wanted to tell her all night and so he turned around, braced his head on his left hand and used his right to stroke the dark hairs out of her forehead. Looking in her eyes he said: "Marry me, Li!"

"Excuse me?" For a moment she looked confused. "If memory doesn't fail me, Lord Fenswick, we are already married."

"Yes, of course," He bent down and kissed her tenderly. "Only our wedding was a rather sad affair, wasn't it? I'd like to do it again – and right this time, properly in a church, with your father leading you up the aisle in a gorgeous dress …"

"… and Allegra walking in front of me, strewing flowers?" Liesl chuckled. "Considering that I'm the mother of one and a half children, I probably can't wear white and ivy anymore, don't you think?"

"Sweetheart, I'm still colour blind. Therefore I definitely don't care what colour you wear as long as you say 'yes, I will' when the priest asks you to take me for your lawfully wedded husband."

to be continued

(1) Sonnenhof Sun farm


	28. Chapter 28

**Amor vincit omnia**

Disclaimer: see chapter 1

_**Chapter **__**28: Three weddings and a christening**_

October 1946

"We should have more horses!" Louisa stated while combing Conversano Theokratia's mane.

"Pardon?" Llewelyn was just disposing shampoo at the tail of the mare Andana. He looked rather funny wearing a blue work coat, loaned by Georg and therefore rather loose around his lanky frame, and white riding trousers with chequered green-brown stockings up to his knees and a pair of worn, green wellington boots. "I actually think your six are quite enough at the moment – especially considering the fact that all of them are white and at least four must have a pig in their pedigree! I know now why I joined a regiment where only black horses are ridden! Getting greys clean really is a pain! Why are they all so fond of rolling in mud?"

"Conny never rolls in mud. He's a very clean boy," Louisa said, petting her stallion.

"Conversano Theokratia is the exception to the rule!" Llewelyn stated, rubbing the mare's tail. "But all other greys I've ever known were real pigs!" He chuckled. "Which reminds me of a grey called 'Prince Charming'. He belonged to our company's leader – he is the only one who rides a grey in the regiment. The rest of us do with blacks or black browns. However, 'Prince Charming' got a new groom just a few days before the king's annual birthday parade. Said groom wanted to do his job especially well, so he was the first in the stables on the day of the parade. As the others came to get their horses ready, he had already washed and shampooed the Prince from head to hoof and put him back in his stall so he could start polishing his bridle and saddle. Only the Prince used this chance to first raise his tail and produce some muck and then roll happily in it. When the poor groom was done with the leather, his Prince wasn't grey anymore, but had once again yellow and brown spots in his coat – and so the poor groom had to start all the cleaning over again." He patted Andana's back. "And don't you get any ideas, girl! I certainly won't give you a chance to roll! You'll be tied up until the moment I put you in front of the carriage!"

"First thing one learns with Lipizzans," Louisa grinned. "Never let them loose if you want them clean." She was now balancing on a bucket. "Conny, could you perhaps bring your head down a bit? It really gets tiresome to have to reach up to work on you!" she grumbled at her horse.

"You see, you've got enough horses to groom!" Llewelyn grinned over at her.

"No!" Louisa said a bit sulky. "I really would have liked to drive four-in-hand too! Besides it's quite a shame that we need two more fiacres to get the entire family to church! Father really should have bought two more mares – I mean, four aren't enough for a real stud, so in any case we need at least six. And if we had them already …"

"… you still couldn't drive four-in-hand because I don't think mixing mares and stallions for a harnessed team would be too good an idea," Llewelyn answered. He had found an especially dirty strand in the mare's tail and was cleaning it between his hands. "Besides I believe you'll have your hands full enough with the boys – and I really hope that Pluto Bona won't use this excursion as a chance for a big show."

"If you're so worried about the boys, you could let me drive the girls and take them," Louisa suggested.

Llewelyn rolled his eyes. They had already discussed this very subject a few times. "Darling, driving four-in-hand through the woods is one thing. Driving them through a city is another. At the moment neither you nor the girls have much experience with four-in-hand. Besides you know yourself that the reins become pretty heavy after a while. I'm sorry to say it, but driving four-in-hand is men's work."

"I'm pretty strong!" Louisa sulked.

"Yes, you are!" Llewelyn let the mare's wet tail go and stepped over to Louisa. After a brief glance at the farmhouse – no one to see there – he bent down and kissed her cheek. "You're even admirably strong, my dear. But if your arms were strong enough to keep the reins for four horses for as long as we need to get to Nonnberg Abbey, I probably wouldn't find you as lovely as I do anymore. You know, I'm not much into wrestlers as girlfriends."

Louisa smiled up at him and, stretching on her tiptoes, kissed his jaw. "You're bad, Lew!"

"Because I always manage to convince you in the end?" He grinned and went over to his horse again, starting to wash the soap out of her tail.

"Nevertheless I'd still like to have a few more horses!" Louisa insisted.

"Oh my!" Llewelyn rolled his eyes once again. "And who, pray tell me, would drive them? Gretl would perhaps like to, but at the moment she's much too busy chasing the youngsters! When I last saw her," he chuckled, "she had Allegra – who's obviously as fond of rolling in mud as those horses – under one arm and Phillip in the other. He had tried to sneak into the stables after Gretl had already washed him."

"Dirty horses and dirty children are happy horses and happy children!" Louisa laughed and started to braid a golden tie into Conversano Theokratia's mane.

"Following that Adana must be one of the happiest horses alive!"

This time it was Louisa who approached him. Kissing his cheek, she whispered: "She can't be as happy as I am today. My siblings are getting married and you are here!"

Llewelyn twinkled at her. "Considering how often I was here before you moved to Vienna – I actually believe I know more of Salzburg than I do of Vienna!"

"The next two years I'll be in Vienna – and we will devote all of our free time to sight-seeing!" Louisa comforted him.

"Oh yes! Only I'm afraid after half a year even my diplomatic immunity won't help us anymore, because all the fiacres you always scold for not treading their horses as they should will conspire against us, catch us and put us in the Hofburg dungeons!" Llewelyn laughed. "But knowing you I don't think we'll starve to death there. As soon as you hear the first Lipizzan led along you'll find a way to break out."

"Isn't it good that you can trust me to always find a way to get close to a horse?" Louisa responded cheerfully. "Besides I'm looking forward to see your Uncle's horses after Christmas."

Llewelyn was done with the mare's tail and started to plait her mane. "I'll tell my mother then to meet you at the stables. She's eagerly waiting to meet you."

Louisa bit on her bottom lip, suddenly looking awkward. "Oh my – your mother …," she slowly said.

"What about my dear, old mother?" Llewelyn asked. "She's going to like you!"

"I'm not so sure of that," Louisa replied. "I mean, I'm certainly not what she dreamed of for her only son."

"And why not?" Llewelyn shook his head. "You're intelligent, well-mannered, hard-working, charming and easy on the eyes. And you're even a Baroness – not that my mother or my Uncle Algernon would care about that, but my Aunt Dorothy, who's a snob to outdo all snobs, does. She always wanted me to marry the daughter of her brother-in-law whose best feature – in the eyes of my aunt – is her pedigree. She's 38th in line for the throne! She'd only need the entire royal family to drop dead to become Queen of England! However, in my eyes she's got only one feature I could adore: Her teeth. They always remind me of a horse. That's probably why she always wears a kerchief. She's afraid someone might mix her up with a horse, put a bridle in her mouth and go hunting if she didn't wear such a thing."

"Llewelyn! You're impossible!" Louisa laughed, but became immediately serious again. "All the same, I doubt your mother will be happy about me."

Once again Llewelyn shook his head. "Why, darling?"

"Because I'm nothing at all how she probably imagined the girl you should be with! I'm a tomboy with short hair and no interest in pretty clothes and other girl stuff. And instead of attending parties, I'm at the university to become a vet – a job most people don't think very suitable for a woman."

Llewelyn was finished with the mare and tenderly patted her neck. "Now you're pretty, my girl!" He smiled at Louisa: "And as far as you're concerned: Don't underestimate my mother. She doesn't only have a great son, she even likes him – so much that she wants him to find a girl who's got something more than parties and dresses in her head. Besides my mother's a horsewoman – and when she heard that you're becoming a vet, she was delighted. She would think it awfully practical to have a vet in the family."

* * *

Maria looked once again in the mirror, for the last time tugging at her hat. From the yard she heard the rattling of two carriages and the voices of her children. Gretl was arguing with Stephan because she was upset that he was allowed to sit on the coachbox while she only got a place in the carriage. And of course, Stephan, now 15 years old, proved himself a true von Trapp male, haughtily explaining to Gretl that sitting on the coach box was "men's work."

Maria rolled her eyes and wondered why Gretl didn't tell him that driving a carriage obviously wasn't – or why else was the carriage the stallions were pulling driven by Louisa?

Louisa was just storming into the master bedroom where Maria stood in front of the mirror. "Mother, I can't get this idiotic hat to stay on my head! Must I really wear it?"

"It looks pretty, darling!" Maria answered and shoved Louisa in front of the mirror where she fixed the hat with two pins. Smiling at her daughter she asked: "Are we ready?"

"I hope so! My boys are probably already getting impatient, so it's time we started."

"Well, then I'll look after our brides," Maria replied and went out into the hall. "Liesl, Julie – we're ready. How are you doing?"

Elsa answered from above: "Just a minute – we only need to fix Julie's veil, then we can start."

"Fine!" Maria responded. "I'm going down to load the children into the carriages."

Walking down the stairs she once again went through the plan – and the logistics of the enterprise of getting all of the family to church in style had been rather difficult! Louisa – with Kurt on the coachbox – would drive the stallions, with Liesl, Elsa, Brigitta, Marta, Allegra and the baby with her. Llewelyn would drive the four mares, Stephan would be at his side on the coachbox while Maria, Julie, Gretl, Barbara and Phillip would sit in the carriage.

The men – meaning the two bridegrooms, Friedrich and Christopher, Georg, Johannes (who had pestered his father for days about becoming part of the men's party), Max and Christopher's former superior Algernon Newstale-Heavens, who was incredibly proud to have been made godfather of the youngest Fenswick – were at the moment in the hotel "Goldener Hirsch" where later dinner and the party would be celebrated. They would be driven to the church in two fiacres.

Shooing the children into the carriages, Maria started to understand Georg, who had said the night before that he would now like to have an auction for his daughters. "We should marry all of them off tomorrow! Then we would be done with this wedding business once and for all!"

It really had been rather hectic over the last few days. Actually the last quiet minute Maria remembered having had been last Friday when she had sat in the Abbey church while Elsa and Max – in a very small ceremony – had married. Georg and the Reverend Mother had stood with them as Elsa, born Countess Enns, widowed Baroness von Schraeder, widowed Countess Rechberg had become Mrs. Detweiler. And although she had worn a rather modest blue suit, Maria had thought that Elsa had never radiated more beauty as at the moment she had turned to Max and answered the priest's questions with a firm, clear: "Yes, I will." There had been something in her eyes that had shown Maria that Elsa had finally found what she had been searching for. Max was more to her than a loving husband – though one could see in his eyes that he really adored her. He was also her friend and her partner in a business she obviously didn't only have talent for but also loved to do. And probably that was what Elsa had been born for: conducting business, connecting people, organizing events. Max had said in right once: "Actually Elsa was wasted only organizing parties. She needs something big to work on – and the bigger, the better!"

The carriages were finally rolling and Maria allowed herself to close her eyes for a blissful moment. Compared to the ruckus she had lived through over the last few days her own wedding had been a peaceful affair. Or did she only feel so because she had missed what had been going on in the villa the night before? She had been at the Abbey then, enjoying the peace there while Max, Georg and Sister Maria Desiderata had dealt with the children.

Now it had been her task to keep – as Llewelyn had said – all her ducks in a row. And that hadn't been an easy task with Phillip's love for falling into dirt; with Allegra – she obviously was becoming a tomboy too – always trying to run away to climb trees or visit the horses; with Louisa not caring in the least for her dress and hat; with Gretl and Stephan fighting all the time; with Julie becoming melancholic because she didn't have any family of her own; with Christopher driving the entire clan and especially his Liesl up the walls because he had misplaced the rings twice; with Friedrich catching a cold only two days before the wedding – luckily he was already better – and with the seamstress being more nervous than the brides.

Oh, it was good to sit in the carriage now, looking out at the beautiful landscape and knowing that she would spend the next hours cosily on her backside. In the church no one would need her to fix anything, no one would want to be comforted and no one would need advice or help about a dress, a hairdo, or "shall I wear the white or the lace stockings?"

And even the weather seemed to bode well for the von Trapps: The sun was smiling down from a lovely blue sky, the woods on the mountains around Heuberg had already changed colour and were greeting the carriages with the beautiful gold and red of autumn; a herd of cheerful looking cows mooed as they passed their pasture; and the neighbour farmer who was taking advantage of the beautiful Saturday to work in his apple garden –Maria had invited him to the celebration, but he had shaken his head, murmuring something about not being one for big parties and "besides, your horseys and kids will need apples during the winter" – lifted his hat and waved at the family.

Maria felt happy. Everything was fine in her little world – though the youngest member of the family obviously didn't think so. Liesl's son was protesting loudly about not getting his afternoon nap and even his favourite aunt Brigitta – who was also to become his godmother – couldn't calm him. But now Liesl took him over and her son's crying subsided at least a bit.

Whenever Maria saw her youngest grandchild, she couldn't help smiling. It had already started at his birthday. The young man obviously had been in a hurry to come into the world. Fourteen days before Liesl was due, she had called Maria – luckily the Sonnenhof had finally gotten a telephone the week before – and told her: "I'm afraid my baby is already on its way. Can you come?"

Although Georg had probably established a new speed record for the drive between Salzburg and Vienna, he and Maria had arrived too late. The youngest Fenswick hadn't even wanted to wait until his mother had been taken to a hospital. Before the doctor and the nurse had made it to the Fenswick residence, the boy had been born – and so it had been Llewelyn who had cut the umbilical cord, later modestly commenting: "I grew up on a stud and have helped a few mares give birth. The difference between a foal and a baby isn't too big – though the foal is quicker on its legs than a baby!"

When the von Trapps arrived, they had found Liesl, dressed in an elegant nightshirt, in her bed, proudly smiling down at the bundle in her arms. And as she had tenderly shoved the blanket away to allow the grandparents a look at the infant's face, Georg had started to grin while Maria had chuckled. Except for the nose – though Maria was convinced that it would once become rather hawk-like too – the boy was the spitting image of his father: fine, gold-blond hair; a high forehead – and he had even wrinkled it, which had made him look even more like Christopher – and blue eyes; the generous mouth and the long, energetic chin.

Georg had later, when they were alone, grinned at Maria and said: "Christopher could have spared himself the test. There can't be a doubt about this boy being his!"

Yet what had touched Maria most had been a little scene in Liesl's bedroom the next morning. She had kept Liesl company while the proud father and grandfather had gone to get the baby registered. Sitting on Liesl's bedside, Maria had seen a velvetcovered box on the nightstand and pointed at it. "The father's gift for the new mother?" she had asked.

Liesl had sat up, covering her mouth with both hands. "Oh sweet heavens!" she had cried. "I had forgotten all about that! Christopher gave it to me last night, but I was so busy with our son and him, I didn't even look at it! And he obviously didn't think of it anymore either."

Maria had given Liesl the box who gasped while opening it. And so had Maria when she saw the tiara in the box. White gold with diamonds and blue sapphires – the most exquisite piece of jewellery Maria had ever seen, and that meant something because the Washington society presented some rather fine pieces too.

Now Liesl wore the tiara instead of the veil and ivy which graced Julie's head. However, as pretty as Julie was, Maria thought Liesl more beautiful. She wore a dress of pale, blue silk which reminded Maria of her own glorious wedding gown and the tiara in her dark hair made her look like a princess.

As the two carriages arrived at Nonnberg, two fiacres were already waiting. The men were already in the church, except Georg, a dashing figure in his blue mess dress. He was waiting in front of the church and together with Maria he sorted out the formation: Barbara and Phillip in front, strewing flowers; followed by Johannes who felt quite adult because he was to lead Allegra up the aisle. After him came Brigitta with the baby – now, luckily, sleeping. Then Gretl and Maria walked into the church as the proud bridesmaids. Maria led Julie down the aisle and at the end of the line came Georg with his oldest daughter on his arm.

Louisa, Llewelyn, Kurt and Stephan hadn't wanted to walk down the aisle. Although Georg had gotten four local boys to look after the horses, the four had insisted on sitting in the back of the church during the ceremony so they could easily sneak out if one of the horses became too nervous.

* * *

Sitting down next to Maria – suppressing a curse because the ceremonial dagger he wore at his side was once again in the way – Georg felt almost dizzy. Marrying his two eldest children off at once could cost a man some nerves! And the little party the men had celebrated the night before had been a rather lengthy and wet affair, especially with one British officer proving that he could really hold his alcohol. Max and Georg's attempts to get Llewelyn drunk had ended with the young man standing up at two o'clock, shaking his head and stating: "I'm certainly not up to driving a car anymore!"

Georg and Max had grinned, but then the youngster had said: "Well, it's no problem – the night's lovely and a little stroll is just what I need to sober up!" And so he was gone and obviously he had reached Heuberg in time to start getting the horses in shape.

Georg and Max in the meantime had needed some urgent rest after Llewelyn's departure. In the room they were sharing they had fallen in bed like logs and the last Georg had heard from Max had been a sigh: "Damn and blast, we're getting old, Georg!"

Looking at the two couples in front of the altar Georg couldn't help thinking that Max had been right. The proof that his youth was gone stood there: Friedrich, a head taller than his father, wearing the blue mess dress of a lieutenant of the American Navy with a row of medals on his chest, smiling tenderly at his lovely bride. And next to him were Liesl, looking regal with her tiara. Christopher at her side was in uniform too: A blue jacket with a silver bandolier and belt, a row of medals on his chest, white gloves, tight white trousers, polished black boots leading up to his strong thighs, dagger at his side and a silver helmet with white feathers under his arm. Charles Forester, certainly not lacking in what he called "locksmithery" – five rows of medals – on his chest, had seen him, grinned and whispered to Georg: "If that's English understatement, I'd like to know what they do to show off!"

However, from the look in Liesl's eyes when the priest asked her if she would take "Christopher Vyvian Peter Lord Fenswick of Hollbridge" for her lawfully wedded husband, Georg was pretty sure that she would even have answered "yes, I will" if the man next to her had been wearing sackcloth and had been misnamed "Jim Smith". And the same was probably true for her friend Julie Miller who just – with tears running down her cheeks and her voice almost breaking – whispered her "Yes, I will" and so became Baroness Julie von Trapp. Friedrich was kissing her now, blushing as always when he found himself the centre of attention.

Yet there was even more to the ceremony than the two couples. Algernon Newstale-Heavens, wearing the same uniform as Christopher – only he looked, following Brigitta, not as handsome as his younger friend, but rather like puss in boots – stepped forward now, all pride and eagerness as he took over the bundle Brigitta had been carrying. The youngest member of the family, wearing the same white lace in which once his mother had been christened – thanks to Elsa who had found the piece in the attic of the villa in Aigen – was still sleeping while his elder sister, sitting on Maria's lap, watched fascinated at how the priest poured water over her brother's head and said: "Julian Georg Algernon Christopher Frederic Carson-Fenswick, I christen you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, Amen!"

Only Julian obviously didn't like being christened too much. He proved with loud screams that he, though looking like his father, had inherited his mother's lungs and volume of voice. And it was Christopher who took him from his godfather and cradled him on his chest where Julian promptly caught one of his father's medals, took it for a pacifier and fell asleep again.

Georg swallowed and closed his eyes. Twenty-six years earlier he had stood where Christopher was just standing, wearing the gala uniform of an Austrian Naval officer, and like Christopher he had felt incredibly proud because he had been the one in whose arms the crying infant Liesl had calmed down. He remembered how he had felt a small hand lightly squeezing his arm and, looking down at the dark head of his wife, he had seen Agathe's brown eyes smiling at him. Even now he thought he could smell her – a slight hint of orange blossom and tea roses. And it was as if she was with him, and in his mind he whispered to her: "Have I done well with our children, my love?"

The organ started to play, but Georg didn't hear the music. Instead he thought he heard Agathe, her voice full of warmth and love: "I never expected anything else from you, Georgie."

Suddenly his mind was filled with memories of her. Agathe as he had seen her for the very first time, a petite brunette girl with big, chocolate brown eyes, coming down the stairs in her father's home, wearing a white dress. Georg still remembered every detail: The pearls braided into her hair, almost too rich for her small head, making her look like an exotic princess; the lace of her dress; the dark red satin sash around her fragile body; the smile which had immediately captured him. He had lost his heart in that very moment.

All the young men at the ball had gathered around her, but she had smiled at him and that had given him the courage to make his way through the crowd and, bowing in front of her, asking: "Would you honour me with a dance?" He had heard an older lady gasping behind him – and yes, he had known that it actually was considered a faux pas to approach a young lady he hadn't been formally introduced to, but he hadn't cared. And Agathe had crooked her head and, already laying her small hand on his arm, had asked: "Is your navy always so quick?" Her voice, amazingly deep and full for a girl so small, had filled his stomach with sudden butterflies.

Georg had led her to the hall where they had started to dance – a waltz. And as he had taken her in his arms, he had smiled: "I am Lieutenant Georg von Trapp from the Austrian Imperial Navy. And you know, the motto of our emperor's family is: 'Bella gerant alii, tu felix Austria nube. Nam quae Mars aliis, dat tibi diva Venus' – others may fight wars, but you, happy Austria, marry! What others are given from Mars, you shall receive from the Goddess Venus."

"Is it possible that you're not only quick, but rather brazen, Lieutenant von Trapp?" she had looked up at him, her eyes full of mischief.

"Not at all," he had answered. "I'd actually like to court you; to sing serenades under your window; to slaughter a dragon for you and lay his head at your feet …"

She had interrupted him with pearly laughter: "My father would have something to say to you about singing serenades under my window! And as far as the dragon is concerned: What would I do with a dragon's head? I suppose they smell rather putrid after a while."

"Miss Whitehead, you're not a romantic!" Georg had laughed.

"What did you expect? I'm English!" she had responded.

"Then it's time for you to find an Austrian to teach you something about romance!" Georg had led her in a series of twirls and she had laughed in his arms.

He hadn't let her out of his eyes for the rest of the night, though he had not managed to dance with her again. She had been always surrounded by admirers who had scowled at him and pushed him aside. But she had looked at him – more than once and finally, as she danced with a chubby officer in a red uniform, she had even blushed from smiling at Georg. He had taken his leave then – but only to get speak to the footman who had waited at the door. Georg had bribed him with some money and had learned that Miss Whitehead usually went riding out the morning after a ball.

The next morning he had borrowed a horse and had waited for her at the promenade along the coast. She had appeared on a beautiful chestnut mare, accompanied by an older groom. Once again a few banknotes had inconspicuously changed hands, and the groom had promptly discovered that his horse had lost a shoe, and because the weather had been so lovely and Miss Agathe's horse needed more work, Georg had offered to accompany her.

Agathe had of course seen through his action. As soon as the groom had disappeared, she had laughed and said: "You are brazen, Lieutenant von Trapp!"

"No, Miss Whitehead – I'm not brazen; I'm just in love with you," Georg had told her.

She had first laughed at him. "How can you be in love with me? You only saw me once!"

"That was enough, Miss Whitehead. I saw you and I knew immediately: You will become my wife and the mother of my children!"

"Children? Let me guess, Lieutenant von Trapp: You already know how many children we will have and what we'll name them!" She had looked amused – and at the same time there had already been some gentleness in her eyes.

"But of course! We'll have a daughter named Agathe …"

She had promptly interrupted him: "No. Not Agathe. I was never too fond of my name." And then she had giggled. "Let's have a son named Georg instead!" It had been the first time she had said his name, almost stumbling over its foreign sound.

"No. Not Georg. I was never too fond of my name!" he had responded with laughter.

"Does that mean I shouldn't call you 'Georgie'?" she had chuckled.

"You can even call me 'Georgie'," he had replied. "But I'd rather have you call me 'Darling'."

"Darling? Why not 'Liebling' (1)?"

"You'll call me Darling and I'll call _you_ Liebling!" he had decided.

She had once again laughed out loud. "Lieutenant Georgie von Trapp, I think you're mad!" Then she had started to gallop along the strand and he had followed her, laughing and feeling happy.

On the next two days he had gone riding with her again – and then, on the third day, he had appeared at the Whitehead mansion in the afternoon with a big bunch of roses. Giving them to the butler, he had asked to see Mr. Whitehead. He had been led into the shipyard owner's big study where he had told the rather surprised man that he intended to marry his only daughter. Robert Whitehead had first laughed at him and told him that many young men wanted to do so and why did he think that Agathe would be interested in him?

Georg had persuaded him to ask Agathe. She had been called into the study where her father – still looking very amused – had said: "This young man just told me that he wants to marry you. I don't think I want my only daughter marrying an Austrian. But what do you think, my dear?"

Georg had already known what she would answer even before she had opened her mouth. He had seen the rosebud she had in her hair – out of the bunch he had gotten her. Nevertheless he had felt a bit nervous until she had stepped next to him, taken his hand, looked up at her father and had firmly said: "Father, I'm afraid you will have to live with your daughter marrying an Austrian." And looking up at Georg she had nodded: "Yes, Georgie – I want to marry you, darling!"

Other memories of her went through Georg's mind: Agathe in her beautiful white wedding gown, stepping down the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square in London on the arm of her father. Agathe, in a honey-coloured dress, the wind tugging at her hair, awaiting him at port as he had come back from his last journey. Agathe, this time in a yellow summer dress, running out of the door of her doctor's house in Vienna, waving a paper and calling loudly: "Georgie, you're going to be a father!" Agathe in his arms, her skin like gold in the light of the candles around their bed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, whispering: "I love you, Georg. I love you so much it almost hurts!" Agathe with the children; Agathe at the grand piano, singing; Agathe at the terrace in Aigen with baby Gretl in her arms and – yes, that was part of his memories too – Agathe, so small and pale in the white hospital bed, her eyes filled with love and pain and her raw, bloodless lips whispering: "You must marry again, Georgie. Our children will need a mother and you need someone to love. Promise me …"

The parish started to sing and Georg felt a hand on his arm. Maria was smiling at him, driving the memories away. But this time they didn't leave him feeling empty and sad, but full of warmth. He was sure: Agathe had found her peace as he had with Maria. She had been his and the children's saviour; she had healed his heart and made him and the family whole again.

Seeing her next to him filled him with joy. Whatever the future held for him, his children and grandchildren, he was sure that they all would face it with the courage and love for life Maria had taught them. And whatever happened to him, Georg Ritter von Trapp, he was certain of one thing: if one day, when the night was sinking down over him, he could lie in Maria's arms, he would die a happy man.

to be continued

(1) Liebling German for "Darling"


End file.
